


Poison

by PapaChaos



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Body Modification, Comedy, F/M, Fanart, Het, Romantic Comedy, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-07-02 00:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15785445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PapaChaos/pseuds/PapaChaos
Summary: AU. The captains are on a 14-day vacation to the living world and Mayuri Kurotsuchi's having the worst time of his life. Forced into the unfortunate opportunity to get to know his colleagues, will he come out a stronger man or a broken husk of his former self? Or maybe with Retsu Unohana's "help", as someone else entirely?





	1. No Such Thing as Good or Bad News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if the cover image will pop up here, but here's the link just in case: https://bigpoppapumping.tumblr.com/post/182016903009/poison-cover-art-a-bleach-au-fanfic-featuring

Slow.

If Retsu Unohana could think of the one word that could perfectly describe her life right now, it was 'slow'.

No one could have ever imagined how boring peace could be. At least back when Aizen was still around and messing with the balance of the worlds, the shinigami were kept occupied every other week. There had been days when things would get so out of hand that even as they would push themselves beyond their physical, mental and emotional limits that they'd find themselves at the threshold of simply giving under the weight. Sheer will had seen them through and in the short moments that followed triumph, they could finally breathe easy. They had peace, and they never would have asked for anything otherwise.

Or so they thought. As the years went on, it started to become painfully obvious that their victory over Aizen had swept them up in some delusion, and they'd assumed things only got better from there. In a way they did. And in others they got much, much worse. She often thought that maybe she was exaggerating the extent of the ennui that had entrapped Seireitei. After all, Retsu felt no small amount of guilt when she'd catch herself counting the number of patients walk into her division. She wouldn't wish ill on anyone not deserving of her ire, and yet spotting the occasional tumbleweed rolling across the impeccably clean tiles of the infirmary made her mood dip.

Seeing how poorly her colleagues were faring after the winter wars, she knew that it was no exaggeration. Last month's flea outbreak was courtesy of Captain Komamura who had simply stopped bathing, prompting strict orders from Genryusai that the Seventh Division's head stick to a thorough grooming schedule or else get a poodle cut. Captain Kyoraku made it to most meetings completely plastered, and it seemed that he would often drag Captain Ukitake into his late night drinking binges considering that even the sickly man would sometimes enter the hall drunk and confused. It became absolutely intolerable the day Shunsui wobbled in with an equally drunk girl under his arm, a boob in one hand and a very obvious protrusion in his hakama. He was slapped with an immediate 4-month suspension for indecency, especially in office. He didn't remember a thing.

In Captain Zaraki's case, the man was intent on testing the last of the Captain-Commander's already scant patience by not showing up to meetings. The usual suspects from the Eleventh were spending their days in the pleasure districts and setting up a reputation as unholy terrors. The Second and the Tenth were up to their elbows in paperwork from all the property damage, overspending on drinks and hookers, and medical bills from assaulted civilians who had "looked at them funny". And the fact that Zaraki always took Lieutenant Kusajishi along raised serious concerns as to his parenting skills. The Fourth did try to intervene. Several times. But the King would only know who was messing with the roster, because the team assigned to retrieve Yachiru under a child protection notice solely comprised of Third Seat Iemura. So to say, the attempts never really proved successful and the poor man was on antipsychotics now.

The paperwork that poured in at the Second and Tenth didn't exactly help their respective leaders' situations. Captain Soi Fon had become a klutz, tripping over uneven floorboards or running into the door jamb without first pulling the door open enough for her to pass through. As someone whose career was built on paying attention to details and exercising unwavering vigilance, the vapid look in her eyes was disconcerting to say the least. Captain Hitsugaya was also struck with a strange disassociation with his surroundings, especially concerning his own barracks. One occasion had Unohana making a brief visit to his office, but once entering the premises found it littered with empty sake bottles, weeks-old fast food cartons and eighteen different species of mushrooms growing on the upholstery. Hitsugaya himself had to wade through the sea of garbage to get to his desk and wound up grabbing a rat by the tail instead of a pen. He didn't realize it even as he dipped the screeching creature's appendage in ink to sign his papers.

Captain Kuchiki had (initially) seemed to be doing well for himself. The man had a multitude of refined and dignified hobbies, including but not limited to calligraphy, gardening, interior decoration and poetry. It wasn't noticeable at first, but then the signs started to show: a "Wakame Ambassador" that crept into his sonnets, or the hedges that had been trimmed into a cloud-like shape with little hats placed on top of them. And then there were those worryingly frequent instances when Byakuya, stoic and unmoving in most social situations, would suddenly snap his eyes to some invisible entity at his side and whisper something like he was actually talking to someone.

That just left Captain Kurotsuchi, but Retsu might as well not even bother with how he was getting along. He was the only one who seemed to revel in this post-war mood – with no battles to be fought, no equipment in need of supply to other divisions, and no obstacles preventing him from frequenting Hueco Mundo for his perverse experiments, he was as content as he could be. And that in itself just made it all the more obvious how  _wrong_  everything was.

There was very little doubt in her mind that the best solution to this problem was a change of scenery; a moment to forget a dull existence and be somewhere new, do something new. In short, a vacation was in order. Unohana's heart and mind lay in saving lives, and although fatal bodily injuries were now a rarity in peace-time Seireitei, her duty lay in rescuing her comrades' sanity before everything broke down into a blubbering heap. The idea stuck, and she immediately sent a request for a private meeting with the Commander, going over in her head the various psychological benefits of a holiday that she planned on relating to the old man in a bid to convince him as quickly as possible. Then again, she could just flash a dangerous smile; that would get things done easier.

She was taken aback a little when the old man instantly joined in as soon as the word "vacation" rolled off her tongue.

"It's good you came to me about this," he told her, propping his elbows on the desk and massaging his temples. "I've never seen morale drop so low, although now I'm a little less worried after finding out it's because of mental fatigue."

"What did you think it was before?"

"Cocaine."

The old man promised the announcement would come as soon as a holiday plan was worked out, and as a couple of messy weeks rolled by, Retsu felt it in her bones that today was the day Yamamoto will break the good news. As she filed in with the rest of her colleagues (with Zaraki surprisingly making it this time, although smelling like alcohol and piss and displaying the telltale signs of a massive hangover), the Commander found his usual spot at the podium, although Lieutenant Sasakibe was right with him instead of at the far corner of the hall. Unohana had immediately spotted the clipboard the junior shinigami had pressed against his chest, and feeling that it had something to do with Genryusai's promise she felt a calm warmth bloom in her chest.

"Over these short years I have come to note peculiarities in your conduct," Yamamoto's voice reverberated across the hall, powerful and commanding – a voice that would have awed anyone else hearing it come from the aged man. "Peculiarities that are especially concerning, given that my captains, upholders of the strict codes and ethics of the Gotei 13, seem to be slackening in such regard."

"Old man, we've always been slackening," Shunsui Kyoraku interjected. And he wasn't wrong though. Given the their lax adherence to dress code, or even the fact that hurling insults or carrying casual conversations in the midst of a meeting was so commonplace, Yamamoto might as well have been senile to claim that there was any hint of that discipline he touted.

"Really?" the Commander feigned awe. "I didn't know bringing in prostitutes to the Captain's Hall was protocol."

A couple of snickers floated across the room as Shunsui gave an incredulous look. "Okay, for real now. Am I being tricked here?" he demanded. "I get the feeling this is some elaborate prank where you guys are trying to make me doubt my sanity by convincing me I did a thing I don't have any recollection of."

"I, for one,  _completely_  doubt your sanity. And that of the rest of you," Genryusai's olden eyes quickly darted to Retsu, a silent gesture that he didn't mean her when he mentioned the "rest". The ever-observant Fourth Captain caught the look and gave a brief smile in response – content, he diverted his attention back to his audience. He sighed before he continued: "I value the Gotei 13 as an elite, capable, powerful and dutiful force. A force that has repulsed all threats to Seireitei, no matter how seemingly indestructible. However, lately I have been fostering concerns that maybe this outfit is not exactly chalking up the reputation we have carved for ourselves over thousands of years…"

Zaraki had already dozed off at some point, large snores punctuating the speech before the old man decided to trail off and launch his sandal at him in frustration. The footwear collided neatly against the jaw of the behemoth who tipped over gently before crashing to the ground, still comatose.

"Ehh, let's send him a memo for later," Ukitake suggested, and the visibly riled Yamamoto had to take a second to calm himself before continuing.

"Let us take this as no better example of the sorry state of affairs you're all in," at his cue, Sasakibe silently stepped down the podium and handed the clipboard to the Thirteenth Captain. The sickly man stared at the piece of paper clipped on to it. Two columns had been hastily drawn up, with the words 'In Favor' in one and 'Against' in the other, while the rest was blank. "As per the brilliant suggestion of Captain Unohana, I have decided that an official vacation would be in the best interests for all of you."

The silent Sasakibe immediately produced a pen from his shihakusho and handed it over to Ukitake.

"Provide your signatures where you agree or disagree with the proposal. If so you do agree to it, preparations will be made shortly," the Commander instructed as the petition exchanged hands.

"And will you be joining us?" Ukitake asked his superior.

"If seating is an issue, I've left plenty of room for him," Kurotsuchi remarked snidely. He had signed under 'Against' without a second thought.

Yamamoto chose to ignore the quip and turned toward the white-haired shinigami.

"There must be at least some semblance of authority in the absence of my captains," he answered as he took hold of the petition his lieutenant handed him back and gave it a cursory glance before looking back up at his subordinates. Catching the discreet twinkle in the normally cloudy eyes of the old man, Retsu sighed in relief knowing what the decision was going to be.

"The Tenth and Twelfth have opted against, while we have yet to receive the Eleventh's signature. That is to be put off until Zaraki is awake and preferably sober – oh, thank you, Lieutenant," he fumbled a little as he put on the sandal Sasakibe had recovered. "Where was – ah, yes. The remaining have cast their approval. Congratulations on your company vacation, captains. I will issue details next week. Until then, with the exception of Komamura, Kurotsuchi, Zaraki and Ukitake, you are all dismissed."

The unnamed shinigami filtered out of the hall, Kyoraku chattering excitably with a visibly uninterested Kuchiki. Although the prospects of being in a place that wasn't the barracks or exercise fields had nearly everyone up in a good mood, Retsu reserved her doubts as to why the Commander had held back Kurotsuchi. She wouldn't put it past the Twelfth Captain to concoct some idiot idea to get Yamamoto to cut back on holiday expenses and funnel the money to his myriad projects. Or maybe he would tout himself an expert on travelling, and convince the old man that nothing could get any better than a trip to the petting zoo or something. A deep pit welled inside her as she thought of more and more scenarios where Mayuri's pettiness would cost them their vacation.

Or if so he tried, she'd personally dig his grave for him. Shaking the thoughts out of her head she began counting, evening her breaths until she was in a calmer state of mind by the time she reached 'ten'. She knew she was giving Kurotsuchi far more credit than he deserved – Genryusai was no fool, and despite his tendency to cut corners on budgets, she had enough faith that the Commander would shoot down Mayuri's suggestions. But even as she reasoned with herself, she couldn't ignore the creeping sensation that something just wasn't right. She slowed until she came to a stop, watching the other shinigami walk on until they began descending the massive steps to the headquarters, disappearing from view. She turned around to look at the imposing set of carved doors behind her and couldn't help but wonder what was going on in there.

 

* * *

 

Inside the First Division Headquarters, the remaining shinigami had circled around the snoring Zaraki.

"Any chance he can wake up right now?" Yamamoto asked.

"Doubt it," Mayuri shrugged, lightly kicking Kenpachi on his cheek, his head lolling to the side and tongue spilling out onto the floorboards. "But I can assure you he won't drown in his own saliva."

The old man harrumphed, slightly exasperated. "Komamura, please carry him back to his barracks. Oh, and…" he saw Sajin pause midway into bending down to pick up his massive colleague. "You will have to get in touch with Kurotsuchi with regards to your gigai. Human or animal, it's up to you so long as it's not both."

The beastly creature nodded in approval before hoisting Zaraki up on one shoulder and walking out the premises. That only left Mayuri and Ukitake who were both in good moods, for various reasons of course. The sickly shinigami was in higher spirits because of the recent announcement – the last time he took an extended break was years ago, and it was nothing more than a trip to the beach in the world of the living. He didn't get to make much good memories of that little trip though, since he had fainted under the blaring heat of the sun. Not to mention the panic he had unwittingly caused by making his a-little-too-enthusiastic-for-comfort lieutenants believe he had died. He didn't know about it until he woke up, but the sheer chaos that had erupted during that short amount of time was historic.

Sentaro and Kiyone had already sent the missive that their dear captain had departed, and the other division members hastily made preparations for a funeral by cooking all the koi in his ponds. Ukitake didn't know what it was that kept him from completely losing his mind when he'd found out, but it was a bad enough shock to spring another bout of illness. As he lay coughing and wheezing at the Ugendo, mourning the loss of the fish that weren't exactly all his, the squad members had the grim realization that there was just too much food for the entire division to consume.

Yes, it was that much fish.

And they couldn't let it all go to waste, which was why Sentaro had the brilliant idea to invite the Eleventh Division - men and women with legendary appetites owing to all the physical work they were involved in. And boy was that a day that Ukitake rued, with the destruction of his gardens, his fish ponds being turned into beer pools, and the graffiti that took weeks to cover up. Zaraki though had been kind enough to send an apology letter, citing the fact that he didn't exactly think straight when drunk. And Jushiro had accepted it (though he did wish it would have been a little more than just "sorree iwas dronk but thnks 4 nyc barbyQ"), but he had made up the mind to never let Kenpachi or any member of the Eleventh Division in his private gardens again.

Mayuri on the other hand, although not the least bit interested in joining his fellow captains on a vacation, was the most content he had been in years. He had privacy, adequate funding and all the time in the world to expend on his experiments. He didn't actually mind attending these drab meetings in the presence of drunken, flea-ridden, vapid ingrates, and since he had already opted out of the trip, he knew that he would be spared having to see their faces for a week or two once they were gone. That just meant a couple of days lost to constructing the vacation-goers' gigai, but it was a brief pain he could afford to bear. Besides, while they were all gone he could try and come up with a way to booby trap their barracks or coerce some of their stupider subordinates to volunteer as test subjects.

He would have to personally thank Unohana afterwards.

"Ukitake, about your condition…" the Commander began but trailed off, knowing well that the shinigami in question would object to being held back due to his bouts of illness. Jushiro seemed like he had expected the question, and mustered the most energetic smile his feeble self would allow.

"It doesn't make a difference if I get sick while on holiday or at my quarters. Besides," he threw the shiniest, most pitiful puppy-dog eyes at the old man. "There's nothing that Unohana-san can't handle."

There was no one that look could not win over (except of course Seireitei's celebrity psychopaths), and the typically unmoving Yamamoto faltered. He mumbled something incoherent before heaving a defeated sigh. "That just leaves Zaraki, then. But since we already have a majority, his decision hardly matters at this point. Still, for formality's sake, I-"

"Wait, what?" Mayuri cut him off, alarmed. Did he hear things right? He had understood that every decision that required the vote of the Gotei 13 captains, it had to be unanimous – in cases where participants were required, they could choose to volunteer or spare themselves unneeded responsibilities. It had been this way since as long as Mayuri could recall which was why he and the brat from the Tenth had bothered to sign under 'Against'. Then what was all this talk about a  _majority_? The confusion and incredulity made it difficult for Kurotsuchi to form any more words, and he stuttered a little before stopping himself to take in a quick, deep breath. Maybe he really didn't hear it right, even though he was aware that his augmented hearing wouldn't betray him like that. But right now he had to give things the benefit of the doubt before he preemptively lost his mind.

"Let me see if I didn't mishear you just now," he began, desperately trying to remain calm in spite of the nervous way he was rubbing his hands. "A majority?"

Yamamoto nodded.

"Meaning that…" he waved his hands in a circular motion as a gesture for the old man to complete his sentence.

"Their collective vote outweighs that of yours and Hitsugaya, and even Zaraki if he chooses to opt against."

"So…" Mayuri began, his voice faltering. "So then…"

"All of you are going," Yamamoto could not help but smirk. "Not excluding you, Kurotsuchi."

" _What?!_ " a feminine voice cried out from somewhere behind them, reverberating off the walls of the spacious meeting hall. Three sets of eyes turned in the direction of the heavy doorway that was now partially open, letting in a stream of daylight that was only broken by the still frame of Unohana who had her hand pressed against her mouth.

Oh wow.

This was way worse than she could have possibly imagined.


	2. The Most Ambitious Crossover Event in History

Unohana was not a hypocrite.

Or so she liked telling herself. It was always difficult to admit, especially when she was the token 'pillar' of morality amongst the Gotei 13 captains. Being a healer automatically gave her that edge: if Retsu stood by it, then it was  _the_  passive choice. But whatever her stance on a matter, it didn't mean the others were in any way obligated to set aside their approach and go her way. It took convincing, and given how obstinate some of her colleagues could get, compassionate reasoning wouldn't get her anywhere.

Which was why she was a skilled manipulator. It didn't take much besides an implied threat hidden behind a warm, maternal smile to make them sweat buckets, though she wouldn't say it would work a hundred percent of the time. Her success depended on who she was trying to break down, and there were only two conscious souls she knew of who could resist her dangerous aura, if only temporarily: Mayuri Kurotsuchi and Genryusai Yamamoto. The former she had no concern with since he was clinically insane and therefore inherently incapable of registering a threat. He was simply not worth the labor. Where others wouldn't risk finding out if her rumored anger was actually real or just a figment of their imagination, Kurotsuchi would gladly undergo extreme pain and possible loss of limbs simply to test that myth.

Although Genryusai didn't have the dangerous curiosity the freak from the Twelfth was famous for, he certainly had resilience. And the many years he had spent as Commander of the Gotei 13, he was an unmatched rhetorician that even Unohana couldn't bypass as easily with her infamous "are you sure about that, dear?" look. Of course, that meant it would take her an extra five minutes to get her way, provided he couldn't manage to convince her before that. But the moment she was at the door of the old man's private office, she knew she couldn't spare him so much precious time. The matter was too grave for her to compromise on, and she had already made up her mind to win the impending argument in record time.

Yes, Retsu was a hypocrite and she hated admitting it. But she was a hypocrite for the greater good of things. And the greater good called for Mayuri Kurotsuchi to  _not_  come along on their vacation trip.

"Thank you for having me at such short notice, Captain-Commander," she greeted her superior at the door and swiftly made way for the empty chair in front of him. She didn't give much besides a cursory glance, but she did spot the unusually thick files stacked on one end of his desk. Obviously paperwork regarding the trip, but it wasn't worth her knowing about for the sake of the upcoming argument.

"Yes," the other shinigami acknowledged her with a small nod. "Given how adamant you were on having a 'talk' right after the meeting, I couldn't refuse."

"Great, let's get right to the point then," she said as she took her seat, right before the curve of her lips dropped into a thin, pensive line. "Get Captain Kurotsuchi off the trip."

She saw Genryusai's great form deflate, but he had held back the involuntary sigh that typically would have followed. He had expected the demand the moment Unohana made her presence known during the after-meeting discussion with the said captain as well as Ukitake and Komamura the day before. There was very little use in beating about the bush, especially when said bush involved a much disliked officer. The sooner he could work things out the better, but it was easier said than done when the two opposing forces in this game weren't known to lose arguments. But if the stack of papers and the tired look of the old man was any indication, the Fourth Captain noted that he just wasn't in the mood for a "discussion".

Great, she practically had this in the bag.

"I would prefer not to," he replied, weaving his fingers as his palms rested on the desk. He wasn't going to go down without at least having put up a fight. No matter how spiritless.

"I would prefer that you  _do_ ," she said as her lips began to curve into a dangerous smile. "I don't see the point of having a relaxing vacation with him in the picture. His concept of a good time is working in his lab, ours is taking time off. It would be to the benefit of everyone if he didn't come along – and he would agree with this too."

The old man paused, contemplating whether or not he could resist the threat in her deceptively gentle tone. He opened his mouth, either to give in or to bravely defend his stance against the imposing woman but it seemed like another thought held back his tongue. His droopy eyes flitted to the pile of papers and he mechanically reached out to it, sifting through each colour-coded parcel before he came across a specific one. He pulled out an ordinary manila envelope and handed it over to the Fourth Captain wordlessly, prompting her to raise a questioning brow. She understood the silent request and fished out the sparse sheaf of papers tucked inside the envelope.

The numbers, particularly the zeros and the red ink that cut through most of what was printed, made it apparent that she was looking at proposed budgets.

"If it were any easier, I'd have gone with my original plan of letting only those who agreed go," the Commander explained almost remorsefully as Unohana glanced up from the papers. "But then, as it turns out, a  _good_  holiday trip isn't exactly possible without Kurotsuchi somehow involved in it. And the only way to justify his presence was to have all my captains go."

"I really don't understand what you're saying here," Retsu confessed, agitated.

The old man sighed again before he pointed at the papers in her hands. She hadn't turned to last couple of sheets yet, and at the indication she pulled out the final one. Her eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline as she saw the impressive number scribbled at the very bottom of the page, with an "ACCEPTED BUDGET" printed in red right under it.

"Two reasons why I can't have him off the trip. One of them is right there," he explained, boggling the Fourth Captain even further, who was now carefully pouring over the words and digits etched on to the important piece of paper. Reading through it, she realized where that incredible amount of zeroes came from: the Twelfth's monthly funding.

"The other is that I don't trust him enough that he won't get up to his dangerous antics," the old man continued. "He might booby trap your barracks or kidnap division members for his experiments while you were gone. He knows to keep in line where there will be others to stop him."

Unohana had put the envelope down on the desk, still a little taken aback by the information she had just absorbed. The Captain-Commander wasn't kidding about giving them a "deserving" holiday. With a budget that huge, they could go on break for several days without worrying about spending too much.

"Of course, whatever finances I could afford to subtract from your respective divisions collectively wouldn't have made for a worthwhile trip. Except the Twelfth, though cutting their funding meant stalling a couple of their on-going projects. But without Kurotsuchi to supervise them as he usually does, they might as well keep things on standby until his return."

"You're forcing Captain Kurotsuchi to go so that you can justify cutting  _a third_  of the SRDI's budget," she summarized his explanation, although to her she sounded as if she was asking a question. "He'll never settle for this."

"You're right," he shrugged. "But his opinions on the matter are moot. The money's come through, and I want you to hold on to it while you're there."

"Me?" her tone was almost incredulous.

"You are simply the most trustworthy, fortunately or unfortunately for you depending on how you take it," he leaned back in his chair contentedly. Seeing the old man like this, compared to the tired look he had given her when she first stepped into his office, made it apparent to the Fourth Captain that he had already assumed victory. "But…" he continued, a ghost of a smirk appearing from under his whiskers. "I can assure you he will need to be on his best behavior unless he wants to risk you… spending out of spite, shall we say?"

It took a second longer than usual for the words to sink in owing to the confusing mix of emotions Retsu had been feeling at the moment, all of them on the negative end of the spectrum. But when that last line of dialogue rolled off the older man's tongue, it was as if the dark mood that had driven her to his office in the first place might as well have been a product of her imagination. She was at once aware that what sounded like a baby-sitting job was a momentary handover of the incredible powers Yamamoto Genryusai possessed over Mayuri Kurotsuchi. Powers so potent that she all she'd have to do was lift a finger to make the most impossible man in all of Seireitei dance.

"Oh," she worded.

"Oh indeed," the Commander acknowledged.

"Well then," she began as she lifted herself out of the chair, feeling surprisingly content despite the knowledge that she failed at her initial mission. She didn't want to think the glorious upside to her newfound duty was already getting to her head; to be fair, it probably was and she still felt oddly elated that the discussion went in the direction that it did. She took a moment to bow before mentioning that she'd been gone from the infirmary too long. It wasn't necessarily a lie since Unohana rarely ever was away from the facility for prolonged periods of time, but without any worrying number of patients and plenty of staff at hand, she had no real reason to rush. But where all had been resolved, there was little reason for her to stick around. The old man got up to return the gesture and Unohana was finally out the room.

"Aren't you in a good mood, today," an unexpected voice fell upon her ears as she turned to close the door behind her. She recognized it immediately and a devilish grin threatened to break out on her face. However devilish it can be considered – it still looked like the typical expression of motherly contentment that she always wore, but only she knew the real meaning behind it. She turned back to face the very man that had been the topic of concern not even mere seconds ago: Captain Kurotsuchi.

Who looked like he wasn't having a swell time, which was saying something considering how good he had it up until the announcement yesterday. She realized that it had been a long while since she or any other shinigami had seen him this pissed, and although she wouldn't say that she felt nostalgic over it, but it was still a more comfortable sight than seeing an uncannily chill Mayuri.

"I wouldn't say the same about you, Captain Kurotsuchi," Unohana feigned ignorance, blatantly enough for the other to realize she was picking on him.

"And I have you to thank," he spat through clenched teeth and she had to press her fist against her mouth to keep herself from laughing right into his face. But it wasn't enough to shield her amused expression from him and he growled at her audibly before storming past her, kicking the door open and loudly demanding from Yamamoto the reason for his summons when he had better stuff to do right now, thank you very much. The door swung shut by the end of that line and Unohana sucked in a breath to push down the fit of giggles threatening to escape her. She had only made it halfway down the hallway when she heard a muffled "ARE YOU FOR FUCKING REAL?" from behind the office door and quickened her pace.

Yes, Retsu was a hypocrite, and she hated admitting it. So just this once she could vouch for this necessary evil, especially when it guaranteed some good laughs.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks.

Two  _fucking_  weeks.

The very thought of spending that much time away from his beloved lab in the world of the living with little purpose other than to 'relax' was just… maddening! Well, however maddening a situation could get for an already loony scientist who could give any B-movie horror villain a run for their money. The 'madness' that Mayuri was actually wary of was the kind that involved straightjackets, padded cells and thrice-daily doses of olanzapine. He was far too familiar with the thin line between mad scientist and just plain mad, only because he had to know where to stop himself before he unwittingly crossed over. After all, once he made it to the other side there would be no going back.

Of course Mayuri had a great track record with pulling out of the worst of situations, one way or another. Lost a battle with a Quincy? That is certainly annoying but he can just turn himself into slime and get out unharmed. And when summons are ordered for all captains to convene on an emergency basis, he can use his lack of a solid form to excuse himself from responding. More time for experimenting!

An Arrancar is using his lieutenant as a surrogate to reproduce himself? Good fucking job, that idiot. Now he can take his sweet time analyzing Hueco Mundo and nabbing all the priceless specimens littered about. His research would soar to new heights with all the precious new data he could pillage from that world!

Fourteen days in the mortal realm partaking in recreational activities in close proximity to his insufferable colleagues, with finances extracted from the SRDI and restrictions on him accessing the Senkaimon during the vacation period under threat of being tried for treason? Mayuri felt sick in the stomach.

Truth be told, he hadn't been feeling well at all ever since the bomb was dropped inside Genryusai's office. He should've taken Unohana's incessant snickering as a warning before walking into that trap, but he had been consumed by thoughts of upturning a box full of voracious rats right on top of her head to catch even the faintest whiff of things. After all, had she never planted the idiotic idea in the old man's head, he wouldn't be here standing at Sokyuko Hill, dressed in a floral-patterned shirt and Bermuda shorts. Ironic how they held high-profile executions at this very spot.

God, the entire week leading up to today was a blur, and it came as a frightening shock to Mayuri that his brain was actually capable of completely blocking out that many days of his life. He recalled giving orders to prep the gigai – he'd been instructed to make them years ago, just in case of course. He'd been justifiably annoyed at having to spend time and resources on something there was no guarantee that it would come into use when he could be working on better, more important things. Had his past-self known that he would eventually break them out of storage so they could go shopping and riding go-carts in the mortal world, he'd have had the gigai destroyed immediately.

Other than that, he was supposed to build a human vessel for the wolf-beast according to his specifications, but Mayuri didn't recall if he ever did get to it. He didn't care though. He didn't care enough for his own gigai that retained his natural appearance, untouched by the modifications he had rendered to his actual body. Reiryoku was dumb that way – it was specific to the individual, like DNA, and it was what went into producing an exact replica of the donor. An automated process, though it was a huge hassle redoing the tattoos, piercings, tans, nose jobs, hair transplants, and most other decorative physical alterations to the fake body's appearance. Mayuri's were the most drastic. And he was too busy not giving a fuck that he didn't remember to fix his own look until he realized it was already D-Day.

"Akon," he called to his subordinate in a voice so unsure that it would have surprised him if he already wasn't slowly slipping into a panic. "I have an idea: you take my place while I–"

"No," the third seat drawled as he exhaled a puff of smoke, concentrating on a spot in the far distance so he didn't have to see his captain's wide, reddening eyes.

"You little–" Mayuri's threat was cut off when another voice a little ways away joined in.

"Yo~, Saji~n!" an arm flung around his neck, pulling him into Kyoraku's side and nearly throwing the Twelfth Captain off balance. Mayuri had caught himself, lifting a leg to counter the sudden shift in weight and posture while hopping on the other briefly before he could find purchase again. He noticed the jovial buffoon had brought Kuchiki and Kenpachi, as well as their private entourages with him. "That's a really weird look you've got going on there, you don't think humans actually have blue hair?"

"Well we got one with pink," Kenpachi grinned, almost proudly, thumbing at the hellspawn perched upon his shoulder who screeched something about bringing back loadsa candy and whatever the fuck. Abarai, Madarame and Ayasegawa, who had been trailing behind with their captains' luggage and talking amongst themselves, took a pause to plug their ears.

Kyoraku stroked his beard in contemplation before shrugging in acquiescence, unaware of the shinigami currently struggling to relinquish his neck from the drunkard's vice grip. Kurotsuchi would have corrected Shunsui if he could, but with his esophagus being crushed, he could only wheeze pathetically and throw an angry glance at his squad members who were all making poor attempts at containing their laughter, except for Nemu who just stood there like a useless dolt. The very sight of such incompetence was instantaneously draining, and Kurotsuchi already stopped wriggling, wondering if he could expect to find the SRDI in one piece by the time he got back. He decided not to bet on it.

"And considering that we're surrounded by members of the Twelfth Division," Byakuya chimed, his tone characteristically withdrawn. "You might as well take the hint that this isn't Captain Komamura."

At that, Shunsui redirected his gaze to the ragtag bunch who had since recovered from their fit and were now sheepishly standing about, one of the shorter ones waving back hesitantly. He then looked back down at the deflated blue-haired man he had in a chokehold of sorts before returning to his elated mood and rubbing his knuckles into the now screeching Mayuri.

"Yo~, Kurotsuchi~!" he exclaimed before finally releasing his incredibly sour colleague, who rubbed his scalp with one hand while simultaneously waving a threatening fist in the direction of his snickering subordinates. "That's a really weird look you've got going on there, you don't think humans actually have blue hair?"

"Go fuck yourself," Mayuri flipped him off without looking in his direction, pouting.

"Are those corrective glasses or are they just for show?" the Sixth's Lieutenant inquired, having set his superior's travelling case down for a moment to approach Kurotsuchi to get a better look of his strange appearance. He didn't see much besides the moody captain snapping his teeth at him and hissing like a snake, a gesture that caused Renji to reel back, having half expected to get jumped and mauled by the freak. Yumichika had already leapt into Ikkaku's arms like a spooked cat but was promptly dropped on his ass.

By then, they could all spot the Fourth and Thirteenth Captains leisurely chatting away as they approached the lip of the hill, the Kotetsu sisters, Rukia Kuchiki and Sentaro Kotsubaki following closely behind. So that just left Hitsugaya, Soi Fon and Komamura, and Mayuri felt the pit in his stomach grow deeper as the moment of departure inched that much closer.

 

* * *

 

It had been four years since that long, drawn out battle with Sosuke Aizen, but for whatever it was worth, at least their world wasn't crumbling around them. He had some vague understanding of the delicate balance that reality is supposed to teeter on, and with that balance no longer under threat from the most cartoonish megalomaniac in all of existence, he figured that things were simply meant to go back to normal. So Uryu went back to antagonizing Kurosaki whenever the opportunity presented itself and brood in the corner when he'd be eventually dragged into a truce by Orihime. Not that Kurosaki paid any heed to Ishida's overt dislike of the Substitute Shinigami, so the truces were really just Orihime giving him a look that reminded him of an abused puppy to guilt him into hanging out with everyone.

And that was how he'd wound up here at the cat café, an untouched pastry and half a cup of now-cold coffee in front of him, and a litter of kittens currently scaling him. He had never denied Inoue before, but with the mewling pests without any concept of personal space clambering all over him, he had never regretted telling her off more than he did right now. Said woman on the other hand was having a swell time – in fact, she and Chad seemed to be the only ones who were content with the situation. Kurosaki had been ambivalent toward cats at some point in his life but had grown quite wary of them ever since the day he'd ran into Yoruichi Shihoin. Keigo was mildly allergic and had been constantly sputtering and dabbing his wet eyes with a napkin the entire time. Tatsuki and Mizuiro had about the same regard for felines as Ishida and had spent the better part of the day swatting away the more inquisitive of the café's permanent residents.

This little get-together was already floundering when the evening had only just started, and Uryu's patience was wearing thin by the second. But then he felt a sharp nudge in his side and snapped his eyes toward the offender: Kurosaki. The orange-haired man had his elbows propped up on the table and hands clasped together, hiding his mouth. He was staring back at Ishida, and the latter would've given him a snide retort if he hadn't noticed Ichigo deliberately looking toward the café entrance and then back. Uryu had quickly caught on and nodded, before noticing that Tatsuki and Mizuiro seemed to be in on the plan.

"Shit," Ichigo suddenly spoke up, a hand cradling the side of his head while his mouth formed a concerned 'O'. "I forgot I have an assignment due tomorrow!"

"Oh yeah," Mizuiro's eyes widened. "I accidentally missed the last submission, I won't even make the mean grade if I don't do this one!"

"Calculus, right?" it was Tatsuki's turn now, and Uryu had to struggle to keep himself from smirking. "Want me to help you out again, Kojima?"

"Hey I have a discount code for a couple rides on Uber," Uryu joined in, his words directed at Mizuiro. "I think your place is along the way to the hostel, I can drop you and Arisawa at your place. How about it?"

Orihime had tried to protest but the urgency with which they all shuffled out of their seats and put their share of money on the table, blathering incoherently to keep up the façade, the poor girl didn't even have a chance to get her voice across. All she could do was pout confusedly as Ichigo went over to her and helped her out of her chair, practically dragging her out of the café while waving goodbye to the rest.

And Uryu waved back, for once actually grateful for Ichigo's scheme.

 

* * *

 

By the time Hitsugaya, Komamura and Soi Fon had joined them (although unlike the rest who had brought a handful of their squad with them, the Second Division captain was accompanied by an entire battalion of the Onmitsukido), they'd already picked up their luggage and were saying the last of their goodbyes before the Senkaimon was to be activated.

"Mayuri-sama?" his lieutenant meekly called to him and Kurotsuchi groaned. He wasn't in the mood to deal with Nemu's unbridled stupidity especially when he was too busy cursing his luck at the moment. He turned to face her although he didn't say anything, but him giving her attention was an indication as any that she had permission to speak. She was having a rough time saying whatever it was she wanted to say though, stuttering and fidgeting around nervously like a buffoon. It wasn't until Mayuri vocalized the order to speak that she finally found the words. "T-take care of yourself."

Kurotsuchi thought not to respond at first. It was strange to hear such a thing coming out of her mouth, and it was even stranger still that she thought it was something she decided he absolutely had to know before leaving for the living world. Under normal circumstances, it would have elicited anger from him, but he was simply too miserable to muster the energy he needed to be absolutely livid and stomp her toes. Instead, he opted to sigh and offer a bored "whatever."

Nemu nodded before fidgeting again and then suddenly wrapped her arms around the agitated captain.

"We're going to miss you," she said. And then came the awkward silence where a deadpanning Mayuri, his arms held up to his sides and suitcase dangling from one hand, began counting the seconds until Nemu would finally get off him. But when those seconds began leading into minutes, he realised she wasn't going to let go any time soon.

"Get the fuck off me," Kurotsuchi ordered, although his voice lacked its usual seething edge, and the girl pulled away immediately.

It didn't take long before the Senkaimon was summoned and a rift peeled away the spiritual divide between the two worlds. And as they all slowly started to move into the Dangai, Unohana stopped briefly to squeeze Nemu's shoulder reassuringly, the last to exit their realm.


	3. Dawn with Her Rose-Red Middle Finger

 The camera pans between the baffled faces of the Substitute Shinigami and his friends, who could all but just stand and stare as the Onmitsukido swarms the place. The shot then moves toward a couple that screams in pure terror as a shinigami garbed in what resembles a ninja outfit somersaults in front of them before blasting them in the face with a kikanshinki. The pair suddenly goes quiet and drops limply to the ground, the ninja somersaulting away and out of the shot. The camera then moves back to the horrified Kurosaki and zooms in at his pale features, adjusting the focus.

A particular voice is heard somewhere out of frame and it's impossible to make out what is being said amidst the frantic screaming of the crowd. But it catches Kurosaki's attention, and his head is seen turning in its direction before a giant fist flies in from the left of the frame and Ichigo simply vanishes from the shot. The view shoots up and juggles with its focus before revealing Zaraki as the attacker, donning a crazed grin as he cracks his knuckles in excitement. It travels down to the crumpled form of the Substitute Shinigami on the asphalt, and then shoots back up, this time capturing Sado and Ishida with their arms raised in surrender slowly backing out of the frame.

"WORLD STAR! WORLD STAAAR!" Asano chants excitedly as his face suddenly takes up the entire frame, blocking everything from view, ending the video there.

Soi Fon straightened herself as she leaned away from the small screen of Hitsugaya's denreishinki, wincing uncomfortably.

"Okay, I'll admit," she began, folding her arms across her chest. "Not the cleanest job we've done."

"That's an understatement," Toshiro quipped, shutting off the screen and pocketing the device.

"Come now, Captain Hitsugaya," Unohana urged, but Soi Fon had already decided not to take offence at his comment.

Even though she could simply divert the blame onto Zaraki who couldn't show any restraint and lunged at the Substitute as soon as he stepped foot in the world of the living, she couldn't discard the fact that as commanding officer of Seireitei's only task force, she should have accounted for the Eleventh Captain's presence. At least the memory wipe went well, and as far as she was concerned that had been the Onmitsukido's primary objective. She was lucky that Kenpachi had wanted to maul the only person there who could take a beating from the behemoth from the Eleventh, so in all, it was as good as it would get.

"No, he's right. I'll take that. By the way," she turned back toward Toshiro. "You're still thinking of sending this to Hisagi?"

A shrug was his only response. While everyone had been issued the latest denreishinki _/_ soul pager models for their trip, the Publications Department had specifically requested Captain Hitsugaya to take photos and videos they could use for their website. While it still managed to sell plenty in print, the Seireitei Communication had decided to step it up a notch by launching a website a little over a year ago. The only new advantage it had over the print magazine were the videos, but they were so barren of any exciting content that there was really no point in keeping the site running.

Soi Fon had expected that Hisagi would approach them to help out in this regard – he was planning to run a special on the captains' vacation and even include a couple of articles on the weird customs of the living world. It wasn't a half-bad idea, but she found it a little strange that he had chosen to ask the Tenth Captain alone to help out. She'd asked, and Hitsugaya admitted that the Captain-Commander had decided to make it his "special assignment"; to give the vacation some vague illusion of actually being work.

Work was what Toshiro had made his excuse for declining time off, but the old man had weaved it into the trip, even going as far as to write up a letter and stamp it with an official seal like it was a mission that involved the very survival of Seireitei. Even more insulting was the candy that came with it, and a P.S. that essentially told him to keep the mission and the confection a secret. Of course Hitsugaya had already violated that rule by telling a couple of his colleagues about it, but still chose to keep mum about the candy for fear of being humiliated.

You know what? He was going to send that video. If he could collect plenty of evidence of the Gotei 13 captains wreaking havoc in the world of the living, then the assignment was as good an opportunity as any to drive home how bad an idea this vacation was. If not stop the trip in its tracks right here, then it would at least spook the Commander badly enough that he'd never mandate another vacation for them or any other shinigami ever again. The young captain promptly fished out his soul pager and sent it to the Publication Department's email.

"It's not quality, but I guess it's passable," Soi Fon shrugged as she saw the green check mark appear on Hitsugaya's screen.

The cab pulled up and the two turned their heads to look out the window at their new abode. The exterior was the same as the other houses in the street – this little spot between Karakura and Naruki was built for vacationers, especially college students on break or entire families. The buildings here were outfitted like standard living world homes, with fully furnished bedrooms, a kitchen, TV lounge and even a basement with working washing machines, and were rented out for up to 3 months to whoever was willing to keep paying for that long.

They however had their's for the next two weeks, and Hitsugaya wondered if it was a great idea to house the captains all in one place for that long. He figured that getting separate rooms in a hotel would've been too much for their budget, and everyone knew the old man kept a tight fist wherever money was concerned. But even still, renting out an entire house for two weeks was no minor expenditure, and it made him wonder just what exactly the numbers were for this vacation.

He didn't get to dwell on it for long though. There was still the matter of getting out of the cab, unloading his belongings and picking out a room. He'd been told that there were 5 rooms to go about, so depending on Toshiro's luck he'd either get one all to himself or have to share space with another captain. As the other two cabs rolled in behind them, he wondered who could possibly wind up as his roommate.

 

* * *

 

Mayuri wasn't a fan of sharing a room. Like the others, he too had fought vehemently for the single bedroom but it was the stubbornness that came naturally to snobs like Byakuya that won the Sixth Captain the much coveted prize. After that, it came down to drawing lots between Zaraki, Hitsugaya and Komamura, and Mayuri actually felt a little relieved that he wound up having to bunk with the boy. It was the best that could be made in the worst of situations – having witnessed Kenpachi's thunderous snores himself during that fateful meeting at the First Division headquarters, both he and Toshiro knew that as roommates they'd at least be sleeping well these two weeks.

Or so Kurotsuchi had thought. The scientist was already having incredible difficulty getting some shut-eye. He had lain awake in his cot for hours, staring up at the ceiling and counting the seconds until he'd finally begin feeling drowsy. But his eyes remained wide open, the faint chirping of crickets floating into his room despite the tightly shut window. He had an inkling that sleep was going to be an issue long before he'd even left Seireitei: he normally slept for 4-ish hours, his occupation demanding reduced sleep, and he'd grown into the routine so long ago that it had become inherent to him. So now that he was in a situation where he had nothing to do and couldn't even sleep away the night either, Kurotsuchi found himself alone with his thoughts.

And as it usually happens to folks who have nothing to do but think when the rest of the world has stilled, his mind too began to slowly drift into the realm of the painfully embarrassing. Memories began flooding in, jumping between the events that led up to his incarceration in the Maggot's Nest, to his childhood years, then to his most recent experiences before leaping to his teenage years. At some point it became absolutely unbearable and Kurotsuchi had to shift focus to more important things. Like how to get back to Seireitei  _pronto_.

Mayuri had assumed that the whole thing about dropping out of the trip midway being treated as treason was a damn joke, but the fact that the missive came bearing fucking Central 46's official seal was just baffling to the blue-haired shinigami. In some ways it was impressive how far the Commander had gone to ensure Kurotsuchi's torture, but he wasn't in the mood to appreciate such dedicated vindictiveness. What mattered was his plan which he realized wasn't the best he could churn up while in such dark spirits, but it was his only other option besides killing himself. He had resolved to talk to Unohana (the true mastermind behind his persecution) in the morning and have her convince the old fart to return Mayuri to safety of his precious SRDI.

He wasn't counting on success though. Mayuri wasn't stupid and immediately caught on when he had seen the dates their leave would fall upon, the most pressing being April Fools. Kurotsuchi had cursory knowledge about how humans tended to celebrate it, which was mostly harmless, but the situation was vastly different for shinigami. The destruction that would sweep Seireitei was a marvel to behold – toilet paper rolls in the tons and graffiti covering every inch of space on the walls of the First Division barracks, grunts from the Ninth that went missing and would turn up in the Fourth's infirmary the very next day, concrete mix dumped into Kuchiki's pond while his fish would inexplicably wind up in Ukitake's Ugendo wearing little party hats, thirty thousand pizzas delivered to the Twelfth and the hooligans at the Eleventh losing all their hair after drinking from tampered sake bottles (save Madarame, of course.)

While Mayuri did admit to orchestrating a couple himself, he was at least with means to mitigate the damage done to his labs and staff. But when on his own, surrounded by people who would never on their life pass up the opportunity to gang up on him for the prank of a lifetime, Kurotsuchi knew he was caught in a death trap. And this wasn't even the worst bit. No, the old man had gone a step further by fitting his birthday into the leave: a double-whammy.  _God_ , that slimy old fossil.

Faint light began to filter through the edges of the drawn curtains, the soft chirping of awakening birds announcing morning's arrival. Mayuri nearly sprang out of bed, desperate to escape the despairing thoughts that seemed to grow louder and louder the longer he lay there. He cared little about disturbing the still slumbering boy who lay buried under a blanket at the other end of the room, and rummaged about for his belongings. Once he had them, he made his way to the bathroom.

Four out of the five bedrooms were located on the first floor with one bathroom to go about seven shinigami. The one on the ground floor had an attached bathroom and had been claimed by the women, because of course they need separate toilets. Kurotsuchi shuddered at the thought of the myriad diseases he could potentially catch, especially when Zaraki who was notorious for his less-than-desirable levels of hygiene would be using the same facilities. The very thought would have made him puke if Mayuri wasn't already on an empty stomach. He did bring along industrial-grade sanitizing chemicals, the one thing he made sure to pack a shitload of, which he promptly poured over the seat and bowl. The lemony scent was a plus.

He didn't take long to freshen up despite having never slept a wink and changed out of his pyjamas into a pair of grey sweatpants and a t-shirt that was one size too large. Slipping on his specs, he made his way downstairs, intending on taking a long walk to catch some fresh air and take his mind off his worries. It was still twilight out, but the soft blue hue of the sky indicated that it was going to be another hour or so before the sun would finally peek out from the horizon. He needed to kill time anyways – it was going to be a while before the others, including Unohana, would wake up.

"Hey, Mayuri!" he froze at Kyoraku's voice. If one had to leave the house, they'd have to cross the kitchen's entrance which lay at the midpoint between the front door and the staircase. Kurotsuchi, already at the frame of the entrance, turned his head to see the Eighth Division's captain as well as Soi Fon and Unohana seated around the center-table. Half-empty cups of tea adorned the face of the marble top while Ukitake stood at the counter, a recently unplugged electric kettle in his hand.

"I didn't take you lot for early-birds," Kurotsuchi said, barely lifting his hand to wave back the greeting.

"We aren't," the bearded shinigami shrugged.

"We couldn't sleep so we stayed up all night," it was Soi Fon this time. Ukitake had strolled over to the table and began pouring everyone a cup of what Mayuri determined from the aroma was a ginseng blend.

"It's all just so exciting being in the living world," the sickly man joined in. "There's so much to do, and it's not even the first day yet!"

"Yes, well, you do you," Mayuri was getting tired of the conversation, and maybe perhaps a little annoyed at seeing how these guys were enjoying themselves when clearly he was suffering. Whether they were saying this to rub salt in his wounds or expressing genuine sentiments, the Twelfth Captain couldn't say for sure. Regardless of their intentions, Mayuri's mood grew fouler the longer he remained in their presence and contemplated leaving for that walk toot suite lest he risk his blood pressure climbing to dangerous levels. And it didn't seem like he could drag Unohana away to have his talk with her; after all, what could he say to convince her to leave her fresh brew and the company of her friends to give him the time of day?

Kurotsuchi turned to leave but stopped when he felt a pinprick nagging at the back of his mind. He realized that something felt  _off_ , but couldn't put his finger on what. Something he had seen or heard that didn't register as easily owing to the lack of sleep combined with the perpetual state of misery he was in. He turned back on his heel to watch his colleagues, Jushiro and Retsu throwing him curious looks. He might have certainly been wearing a strange expression to warrant being stared at like that, but that wasn't his concern for the moment.

The longer he stood there, the more things seemed like they were out of place. It wasn't until he realized that the four were in uniform that he understood what was wrong.

"Where are your gigai?" he demanded, eyes nearly popping out of his skull.

"We dropped them there, in the living room," Unohana pointed to the arched entrance behind Kurotsuchi, blinking innocently as she tipped her cup to her lips. "They were getting really stuffy."

Mayuri whipped around and to his disbelief spotted their temporary bodies propped up against the sofa, their eyes closed and heads downcast so that they looked like corpses being made to sit like living humans. The scientist's jaw dropped open. Much like the eye-patch he had constructed for Kenpachi, gigai were designed to check the reiatsu a shinigami, especially powerful ones, would leak. In the living world, high amounts of concentrated reiatsu would draw a swarm of all manner of Hollows to a feeding frenzy, hence why it was absolutely necessary that they all wore their gigai at all times. And yet here four captain-level shinigami sat about chatting about niceties over ginseng tea while sounding off the loudest fucking dinner bell for miles around.

True to what he had expected, silence fell over the group as the familiar cacophony of dull, rattling groans echoed from outside, causing the earth to tremble and at least one cup half-empty with the now cooling drink nearly toppling off the table top.

"I guess we overshot how long we could go without the gigai."

Mayuri buried his face in his hands.

"Tea?" Jushiro offered.

 

* * *

 

'I had to skip class for this…' he thought to himself as the hot rays of the sun bore down on his prone form. Even though everything looked blurry, he could still make out the white clouds splashed across a bright blue sky. Mere minutes ago they had been obscured by the massive expanse of Menos that had clawed their way through their world into his – all he could remember of the past couple of hours was darkness and animalistic bellowing. He didn't know at what point he had managed to cut away enough of the darkness before the light finally took over, but he was still swinging his sword mindlessly at the air at phantoms that only his exhausted mind could perceive before his body finally gave. Next thing he knew, he lay spread eagled in the grass, his overworked lungs demanding huge gulps of air to keep them from collapsing. He couldn't even feel his legs and yet the only thing that remained on his mind was the grade penalty he was going to get for missing yet another class and being forced to repeat an already godawful semester.

Today was not his day.

A high-pitched screech escaped Ichigo as he felt burning cold envelop his body, and he shot up from the ground.

"What the fuck was that for?!" he snapped, arms instinctively crossing his chest to build warmth. He didn't appreciate having a bucketful of ice-cold water dumped on him without warning, and now he sat shivering like a wet dog in the grass, arms crossed against his chest to trap what little warmth he had left before it too escaped his body. Toshiro said nothing though he lifted a quizzical brow at him. The silent dismissal made Ichigo want to snatch the empty bucket out of the brat's hands, drop it down on him and tip him over with a well-placed kick so he would roll down the driveway. But the freezing cold had locked his muscles, robbing him of all movement as well as any desire to release his hold on himself for fear of losing the last of his body heat.

" _Achoo!_ "

Aaaand he just caught a cold. He could kiss this semester as well as any hopes of graduating this year goodbye.

"The water was for dampening the towels, but whatever, seems like your way worked anyway," Soi Fon's voice came from behind him, obviously directed toward the kid. She walked into his line of vision and held out the aforementioned towels for him. "You can use these to dry yourself off."

It looked like an attempt had been made to fold the white fabric, but the incredibly fluffy softness had prevented whoever had set them from making it neat. It reminded him of the clouds he had been gazing at before being splashed with freezing cold water, the fabric undulating with the slightest stir. The towels exuded a warmth that Ichigo could feel just by looking at them, releasing his stiffened muscles so he could reach out and grab on to the life-giving plushness.

A sneeze interrupted the contact and he pulled back his hand to wipe his wet nose. Soi Fon leaned forward and draped the towel over his shoulders, the trembling Substitute pinching its corners and pulling it tight around himself.

"Well he's no longer having a heatstroke," Toshiro reported to Unohana who Kurosaki had to pivot on his hips to see. She was in the doorway of the house the captains were occupying, holding what looked like a ladle. Were he not aware of her moods, Ichigo wouldn't have ever guessed that she could use it to pound his skull in if she felt like it. Though right now violence didn't seem to be her intention – her smile didn't send shivers down his spine, shivers stronger than what he was currently experiencing due to cold, and instead made him feel relaxed. "He does have a cold now, though."

"It's alright," she said, and then shifted her eyes to him. "Kurosaki, how about you come inside for a while? I'm making some soup that'll work wonders for you, it won't take long."

Soup definitely sounded like a great idea. He nodded back and shakily got to his feet, the plush towel having worked wonders to spread heat across his frigid body as he followed her inside. Toshiro and Soi Fon trailed behind, and he took the opportunity to take in his surroundings. Although the interior was nicely decked out, adequate for folks looking to stay in comfort for some time, nothing seemed brand new or unused. Entering the kitchen, he saw Byakuya and another man he didn't quite recognize at the table. They'd been discussing something but stopped as soon as they saw Ichigo in the kitchen's entrance, the larger man getting up to shake his hand and lead him to a seat on the other end of the table that faced Byakuya.

Rukia's brother said little other than "Greetings, Kurosaki", and although he didn't speak much to begin with it was apparent that he wasn't in high spirits today. The Substitute figured it was because of the unintelligible yelling that was going on in the opposite room.

"Uhh… is everything okay?" he asked.

"Of course everything's okay, why wouldn't it be?" the stranger talked like he knew him and it made Ichigo incredibly awkward that he couldn't recall this guy's name. He'd been struggling to remember since the moment the man had walked up to him, his mental gymnastics turning up nothing besides the assumption that since he'd met only captains at this point, this was a new dude who'd filled in one of the spots left by Aizen, Gin or Tosen.

"Well there's all this screaming, Captain…?"

"Oh yeah, that's right, you won't recognize me in this body. It's me, Sajin Komamura."

Ichigo's eyes widened in surprise. He'd nearly forgotten that one of them wasn't exactly human, since much of his memories of the were-beast had his visage obscured by that weird wooden mask of his. He knew that Sajin had stopped wearing it after Sosuke's betrayal, but Ichigo didn't exactly see him much of him then, though he did get the feeling that he had heard that voice before. Hearing Sajin but watching a man with the looks of a runway model flap his mouth weirded Kurosaki out, and the boy couldn't suppress his involuntary shudder. Thankfully Sajin assumed that the reaction had been because of the cold, and he patted the Substitute's back for reassurance.

"Here you go," Unohana slid a bowl in front of him. Boiled carrots, broccoli and chopped cabbage floated in a clear broth, a delicious aroma wafting into the air. Ichigo realized that he was incredibly hungry, having not even bothered with breakfast when he felt the immense spiritual pressure from the Hollows that had invaded the world of the living. His hands emerged from the towel cocoon and pulled the porcelain bowl closer to him.

Ichigo had scarcely even put the first spoonful in his mouth when the heated voices from the room behind him had suddenly gotten very close, and he turned around in his seat to see Kyoraku, Ukitake and another guy he didn't recognize walk into the kitchen. Kyoraku was arguing with the new guy, or more like trying to fend off the latter's angry remarks with sheepish excuses, while Ukitake was chuckling at the whole scene. Kurosaki again wondered if the blue-haired guy with an undercut was a replacement for one of the three ex-Gotei 13 captains, but judging from the pitch of his voice as well as the way he enunciated every syllable, he was likely looking at Kurotsuchi Mayuri.

"You know, I'm actually going to give credit to the others for at least getting it through their skulls as well as to spite you, but you're a complete idiot as is so I don't know if it can get any worse for you than that," yup, it was definitely the freakshow from the Twelfth Division. Boy if Uryu had recognized him yesterday it would have been a lot more trouble than what Ichigo got. And now that he found himself in the midst of what could easily have been mistaken for a marital spat between two captains, one of which he was cautiously aware was a full-blown psychopath, Ichigo had a feeling that the day might turn out badly if he didn't leave.

After he was done with the soup, though.

"You call anyone who doesn't agree with you in the slightest an idiot, that insult lost its meaning a long time ago," Shunsui waved a dismissive hand at him.

"Really?" Mayuri challenged and then his voice dropped into a mocking baritone. "Hey Mayuri, what's the French word for "croissant"? I promised brunch to the Women's Society and I wanna make an impression. Hey Mayuri, I clicked on this ad to talk to hot single women in my area but my computer started freaking out, was it a virus? Hey Mayuri, how do I write "sit on my face" in kanji? I wanna give this card to Nanao on Valentine's Day and I think kanji will give it that classy touch."

Nevermind, this was hilarious. The spoon slipped from his fingers and dropped back into the bowl as Kurosaki's quiet snickering joined in with that of the others.

"I don't sound like– I have  _never_  said any of those things!" Shunsui exclaimed, offended.

"You definitely said the last one, because you came to me for same thing," Jushiro intejected, but instead of taking offence his friend gestured at him like he'd said the winning line. He glided over to the pale shinigami and put an encouraging arm over his shoulders.

"And you helped!" Kyoraku went on. "See, that's what good friends do: they help each other, not chew their ears out over teensy weensy slip-ups."

"I'd have gladly let you have your innumerable slip-ups if it meant that you alone would be the one to get court-martialed for them," Mayuri was unamused. "But as it turns out, we're all stuck on the same boat. So if the four of you decide to punch a hole in it, the rest of us go down with it. And I actually like being alive, thank you very much."

"We didn't punch any holes in the boat, you're exaggerating."

"Yeah, you calling in a fucking Menos party by taking off your gigai is me exaggerating."

"Eh, you're getting your panties in a twist over nothing. Kurosaki took care of everything like a pro, and the old man didn't catch a whiff."

"Ah yes, the 'pro' who's currently lying comatose on our lawn. Maybe I shouldn't have shut down the Garganta; he looked like he would've appreciated a fourth wave."

The Substitute stiffened at having heard his name pop up in the conversation and cold sweat began to bead on his brow. The two had been so busy throwing insults at each other that they hadn't realized Kurosaki was right in front of them. And he had been fine with remaining unseen – getting involved in their affairs, whether willingly or unwillingly, was a fine way to lose one's sanity. After all, shinigami were nutty, their captains even nuttier and to associate with them longer than ten minutes or so, as Rukia had warned, was a certified health hazard.

The past couple of hours that had transpired could attest to that. If what Kurotsuchi implied was true, then they were sorely to blame for his nearly dying of exhaustion combined with a heatstroke today. He'd nearly gotten himself killed over nothing, and was then lured in by treacherously fluffy towels and promises of soup as compensation for fucking with his immune system. All this was reason enough to widen the distance between himself and the shinigami captains before he'd lose his life for certain, and wind up back under their feet when he'd pass over to the other side. Having made up his mind, he silently pushed the chair out from under as he got up.

" _Achoo!_ "

Well... shit.

A deathly silence fell across the room as all eyes were suddenly upon the only mop of orange hair in the room. Ichigo stilled, mind too preoccupied with mentally cussing himself out that he didn't even bother wiping off the blob of mucus dangling from his nostril until he started to physically feel the pressure of being everyone's center of attention. Running a sleeve under his nose, he turned around warily to face the very people who'd been discussing him not a moment ago.

"Oh wow, he's awake," Kyoraku commented. "You feeling alright?"

Ichigo didn't answer. His tongue had gone dry under the scrutinizing gaze of the blue-haired captain who he felt like was mentally drawing guideline on where to cut and portion his flesh. Perhaps because she had sensed his discomfort around Kurotsuchi (and God knows if that was the common sentiment among people who'd find themselves in the presence of that nutcase), Unohana answered in his stead.

"Much better."

" _Achoo!_ "

"And he'll be his right self once he'd had a little soup to fix that cold."

"If you plan on feeding him the entire week," Kurotsuchi retorted, his golden eyes never wandering from the now sweating Substitute Shinigami.

"Or if he takes Benadryl twice daily for the next three days alongside it, as I was going to prescribe him," she shot back in her characteristically polite tone.

"That's still 3 whole days of unwanted illness. I can fix him up within the hour. How about it?" he said, turning toward the current subject of debate who reeled back in horror at finding Mayuri suddenly so close to him. Ichigo never saw when and how he had managed to close the distance between them, and now backed into the table there was no real way for him to widen the gap once again. Not to mention the disconcerting way Kurotsuchi flashed his toothy grin at him. Jesus, even if he got out alive this time, those fucking teeth were going to haunt him in his dreams for the next couple of months. "It's a simple injection, and provided you avoid any and all food intake for 5 or so days afterwards you probably won't develop brain tumors."

"That is a shitty trade-off, doc," the orange-haired boy declined, doing everything in his willpower to keep himself from stuttering. Mayuri glowered at him.

"You don't know better."

Ichigo was silent once again and his gaze flitted about, hoping that at least someone would come to his aid. He couldn't see Byakuya or Sajin but their complete silence was an indication as any that they weren't going to get themselves involved, and seeing Shunsui shrug at him made him lose all hope of finding any hint of sanity amongst these freaks. Oh wait, that's right: Unohana.

"I think I'll have the soup," he turned to grab the bowl and presented it to the lunatic as a physical representation of his rejection of the offer.

"Are you sure?" Kurotsuchi demanded and Ichigo quirked a brow at what he thought was pity in his tone. Thinking none of it, the Substitute put a spoonful of the broth in his mouth as his final answer.

Ichigo asshole clenched up almost immediately. His teeth clamped down on the spoon tightly as pain shot throughout the back of his throat to his lower jaw, his lips shrivelling and sealing his mouth shut so that he couldn't even spit out the soup, much less the utensil between his teeth.

"Be careful," Unohana said offhandedly just as a pathetic whimper escaped the human boy. "The soup might be just a tad sour, but it'll do wonders for your sinus."

Tears flowed down his cheeks and into the bowl.


	4. If Looks Could Kill, Might As Well

 

 

 

" _God_ , he looks like such an asshole."

Retsu would've normally frowned at having to hear such crude vocabulary from a captain that wasn't Zaraki, but she decided to let it pass this once because she couldn't agree on a more apt word than what Soi Fon had had used to describe Kurotsuchi's getup. Maybe asking him to change out of his sweatpants had been a bad idea – sure if Shunsui were here, he'd be on the floor gripping his sides, mad with laughter. But he wasn't here. It was just her, Soi Fon and Byakuya and neither of them found any amusement in having to associate themselves with Kurotsuchi the way he was dressed right now.

Of course, Soi Fon's statement would have seemed redundant in any other circumstance, given that Mayuri was indeed a supreme asshole and was privy to garb himself like a sideshow attraction. This time though he somehow managed to look like an even bigger asshole, an accomplishment that was worthy of merit since he wasn't even wearing that goofy mask and hat of his. If he did, then he'd actually look a little more  _presentable_. Unohana glanced back without meaning to and whipped back around as a shudder went up her spine. She couldn't even look at him for longer than a few seconds for fear she'd shrink half her size by cringing too hard.

Kurotsuchi's long-sleeved buttoned shirt was an eye-gouging purple, and judging from the way it slightly shimmered in the light, she'd guessed that it was satin. To compliment that, he'd gone with leopard-print pants and oxford shoes with metal-plated wingtips, and reflective orange-tinted aviators that obscured his eyes. Retsu had no way of telling whether he was dressed that way to embarrass them or if this was actually his taste in fashion, but judging from the way he slumped moodily or hissed at the occasional child that would point at him before being whisked away by a petrified parent, she guessed it was the latter.

"Times like this I can't help but hope that they'd criminalize bad fashion," Byakuya muttered in a low voice. "I don't want to be seen around him."

"Who does?" Soi Fon snapped although she still kept her volume down and then gave Retsu an accusatory glare which the older woman pretended to not have noticed. The Second Division Captain had every right to point fingers at her since she was the one that had coerced Mayuri along their trip. The three had made plans to hit the mall a little while after Kurosaki had been chased out of their home by Kenpachi. The Eleventh Captain had miraculously slept through the Hollow attack, only to wake up and wander into the kitchen for some late-morning breakfast when he'd spotted the human boy struggling to swallow the first spoonful of Retsu's medicinal soup. The two were out the door instantly and she hadn't heard from either since. It was likely that Kenpachi had gotten lost after Ichigo must have given him the slip which was why Soi Fon had suggested looking for him lest he got into any more trouble.

It was when they began listing all the various places Kenpachi might have wandered into that Byakuya mentioned the mall, and while the suggestion was discarded it prompted Kuchiki to wonder what the shops in the world of the living were like. The conversation had derailed into excited plans to go on a shopping spree, and after a cursory glance of the vacation pamphlet Unohana had brought with her, they'd singled out the largest mall in their immediate area and were set to leave.

Unohana however had decided to drag at least one other person along to lug all their stuff around, her primary choice being Shunsui but against all judgment she had instead settled on Kurotsuchi. Her decision wasn't met too warmly by the others and her assurances that she'd keep him in line without really divulging how didn't help their mood either way. Still, they'd shrugged and watched quietly as she went to talk with the nutjob.

Retsu knew that they'd butt heads in these two weeks eventually, with her doling out swift and satisfying justice to exact the many wrongs she knew Kurotsuchi would commit, just not so soon. But when she saw how he remorselessly humiliated his own lieutenant for expressing her concern for him, an indignant flame had been ignited in her. Unohana had offered what little comfort she could in the moment but she knew it wasn't enough to heal Nemu's emotional wounds or quell her desire to make Kurotsuchi repent. So when talk of a shopping spree came up, she knew this would be the first of many opportunities to start whittling down the Twelfth Captain.

He'd declined without hesitation (typical) but Unohana was saved the trouble of using underhanded tactics to get her way when Shunsui leaned over to him and related how he and Jushiro were going to take Toshiro to the zoo (it obviously had been the white-haired shinigami's idea who was intent on spending quality time with the Tenth Captain). Sajin had also opted to join them, and if Kurotsuchi wanted he could come along too.

"How about I just stay here?" the blue-haired captain refused to bite.

"That's fine," Retsu said. "We need someone at home to receive Captain Zaraki in case he comes back while we're gone."

She could almost hear something ticking inside Kurotsuchi's skull as he mulled over her words in silence before he got up and declared he was all set to go to the mall. She had stopped him before he could hurry out the door and told him they weren't going to have him while he was still in his pyjamas.

"These aren't pyjamas," he protested.

"They sure look like they are. Go and get changed, we're calling a cab in the meanwhile."

Cut back to the present, and Unohana was starting to believe that a serious lapse in her sanity had prompted her to make the suggestion at all. Maybe she had also been suffering from acute mental fatigue before this vacation and never realized it until now. Soi Fon got nothing from her no matter how long she continued to bore holes into the older woman, and at the awkward silence Byakuya risked a peek at the Twelfth Captain. He'd been trailing behind by a little distance and was too preoccupied with sulking to pay attention to the occasional glances that came his way.

"Well at least he's driving away the groupies," the Sixth Captain commented. That much was true. There was no shortage of highschool girls who'd start chattering loudly when they'd see the dashing stranger pass by. Byakuya noted that the girls here had little regard for self-respect; they'd start stalking him, squealing excitably when he'd tuck a lose strand of hair behind his ears, or strike a cool, relaxed pose as he'd stare at whatever caught his eye, contemplating if it was worth a purchase. The saleswomen in these very shops were having a field day as well, trying to force him to stay longer so they could ogle at him rather than get him to buy more stuff.

It was infuriating, but the moment Byakuya would turn to Kurotsuchi to dump the bags on him, the swarm of admirers would slowly start to dwindle, their collective disgust and fear of the blue-haired shinigami overpowering their obsession with the nobleman. Disgust he understood, but it wasn't until the Sixth Captain overheard a group of girls murmur "yakuza" that he realized why else Mayuri was so effectively warding them off without perhaps intending to. Nonetheless, the teenagers were persistent enough to keep trailing the group from afar. Though at least at this distance they couldn't surround Kuchiki or drive him crazy with their high-pitched screaming and drooling all over his shoes.

"No, don't do that!" Soi Fon vehemently objected. "Don't  _commend_  him! You're not allowed to do that!"

"I'll say it as it is," he replied, refusing to take back his statement.

"Alright, calm down," Unohana stepped in to break up the fight. "We came here to enjoy ourselves so let's just keep doing that, shall we?"

She then turned to look over her shoulder at the obliviously pissed off shinigami following them.

"And please pile up as much stuff as you can on him. Maybe that might hide enough of his atrocious attire to save us from gagging every time we look at it."

 

* * *

 

"Hey there, big fella," a male voice cried out and Kenpachi stopped in his tracks. He'd only ever heard prostitutes call to him like that when he would roam the seedier parts of the Rukongai, either actually looking for a quick romp or helplessly lost. And he was lost this time as well, but given the little kids playing in the streets while their parents or older siblings frequented the myriad fruit sellers or convenience stores littered about, he wasn't going to bet that he'd wandered into a pleasure district.

Then again, there was no mistaking the lusty call from the sandal-wearing store owner currently lying on his side on the porch of a shady looking shop, beckoning the shinigami with a folded paper fan. Curious, Kenpachi deigned a look and the grinning shop-keeper, confident with the success of having the larger man's attention, lifted his hakama to reveal a pale, hairy leg. Zaraki decided he would heed his call, only so that he could punch the fucker's teeth in, but his violent urge dissipated when he'd gotten close enough to recognize the daring proprietor. "How're you enjoying your vacation so far?"

"How did'ja know that we're on vacation here?"

"I have my sources," Urahara replied coyly. "That answers your question, now how about mine?"

Zaraki didn't exactly have an answer to that. He had his qualms about being away from Yachiru and for so long, of course not out of concern for the irreparable damage she could do to his men and barracks without him keeping a leash on her. When he'd gotten the order to start preparing, he'd naturally made the assumption that his lieutenant would be coming along; learning that it was a captains-only trip didn't settle well with him and he'd nearly wrecked the old fart's office until he finally gave in and made an exception for her. His efforts however turned out to have been wasted when Yachiru straight up refused to go to the living world, citing the fact that the candy there wasn't as tasty as the ones in Seireitei and that she wanted to play at the "funhouse" over at the Twelfth. Arguing with her was pointless, so he'd resolved to not go but Yachiru had objected to that as well, prattling on about how she wanted him to bring back a ton of chocolates.

Her contradicting viewpoints on sweets from the living world were lost on the already drained Kenpachi, and he didn't fight her over it. Not that he had any chance of winning an argument against her in the first place, so he'd packed up and left without her. And now that he was out on the streets, traversing sidewalk after sidewalk, alley after alley, he could acutely feel her absence. Of course he knew her sense of direction was as bad as his, but there was at least some comfort to be derived from her presence and her ever-confident voice urging him on, never to give up.

Goddamn he missed the little brat.

"I'm kinda lost," he murmured, embarrassed.

"Aren't we all?" the other man commented cryptically. "Though if you need specifics, you're smack dab in the middle of Karakura."

Kenpachi scratched his head and the shopkeeper took it as a cue to explain further.

"You're a little ways from where you're staying at. Got your soul pager on you?"

The behemoth nodded and produced the machine from his pants pocket. It looked comically small in his hands. Urahara recovered it from his palm and silently tapped a few times on the screen before a mechanical voice from the pager announced the distance from Kenpachi's current location to his destination.

"Just do what it tells you and you'll be back home safe and sound in no time," he said handing the device back. "By the way, what are you doing roaming the streets all alone anyway?"

That was a good question. What  _was_  he doing out here? He'd been chasing after that cowardly bastard Ichigo who refused to take up on his demands for a fight and had thrown him off by weaving into the many alleys here. That had been thirty minutes ago, the trail having long gone cold, and the desire to go back home already usurping his inclination to pummel the shit out of the Substitute. But now that he remembered why he'd been walking around confused for so long in the first place, his bloodlust was instantly renewed.

"Ya seen that fuckwad Ichigo 'round these parts?" he demanded from the now yawning shopkeeper.

"If you mean  _right now_ , then nope. Haven't seen him in ages."

"Well…" Zaraki grumbled ponderingly. "If ya catch that weasel anytime he's here, ya holler."

"You can count on me," Urahara assured as he opened his fan to obscure the lower half of his face. The taller of the two turned and began to stalk away into the distance, the faint voice of the AI relaying instructions to him, growing silent as he vanished behind a bend. A rumble came from the interior of the shop and the former shinigami turned to see a couple of empty cardboard boxes topple over as a haggard Ichigo emerged from behind them, his nose leaking mucus and a towel tied around his neck like a cape.

"Is he gone?" he asked, eyes darting to the parted doorway where Urahara peeked back from.

"Didn't I say he would be? Now, about my payment…"

"What payment?" Ichigo narrowed his eyes at him.

"My compensation for taking time out of my busy schedule to come to your aid when you so desperately needed it," he explained, a slimy smirk plastered on his face.

"You never mentioned any payment."

"Well I'm mentioning it  _now_."

"You bastard!" Ichigo cursed as he pounced at Urahara, grabbing a handful of his collar and lifting him to his feet, preparing to launch him into the nearest wall but immediately relinquished his hold when the dirty old man began crying out for Kenpachi. He was well aware that the brute was long out of ear shot but just hearing his name gave him an intense bout of anxiety that he wasn't willing to bear in his current state. Urahara dropped to the floor on his ass, his hat toppling off his head. "Alright fine, how much."

"Oh no, I wasn't talking about money, Ichi-kun" the old man teased and Kurosaki swore he was going to burst a vessel. "I've got something that I want you to do…"

 

* * *

 

His feet hurt.

It had been over three hours and they still weren't done. He didn't understand the merits of looking at whatever, hoping that something would catch their fancy and make them want to spend their money on it, only to wonder what to do with it now that they owned it. Nothing they bought was something they needed – they'd just look at something and then be promptly consumed by an impulsive want. And the pace at which they meticulously scoured every damn shop they came across, having second, third and up to thirteenth thoughts over which pair of shoes to go with (only to wind up taking all of them) or whether or not this scarf was hundred percent silk like it said on the tag (of course it wasn't, but Kuchiki still felt obligated to grill the salesperson over it for minutes on end), left Mayuri with little doubts that he'd be lugging around their goods another couple of hours.

He was completely done. The zilch amount of sleep he'd gotten last night was contributing to his snappy mood but had also tired him to the point where he could either grunt dismissively or give a snide remark where he wanted to belittle someone or something. He was devoid of any energy to argue with the others and throw a tantrum just so he could make a scene. Exhaustion had beaten him into grudging compliance, and at that point all Mayuri could think about was finding a chair or sofa first thing as soon as they'd enter a shop, any shop, and just nestle into one.

He was lucky that this recent one had several sofas for all the equally morose men whose partners were trying out every shade on display in the nail polish section, or rubbing concealer after concealer on a patch of their skin to see if it was their color. He deposited the bags at his feet and stretched out his throbbing legs as he leaned back and closed his eyes. He could hear their murmurs but wasn't paying attention to their conversation until one of the women spoke his name and he opened one lazy eye.

It was Unohana, holding two pastel colored bottles in either hand, Soi Fon at her side tapping her foot expectantly.

"What do you think is better?" she asked. "'Herbal' or 'Moisturizing'?"

Yup, he was done.

His head tipped back as he let out a disgruntled groan. He stared up at the blaring white lights on the ceiling, hoping that if he'd stared hard enough he'd go blind. His sight in this gigai was already poor and the fact his eyes had yet to adjust themselves to bright environments for prolonged periods meant that he had a little ways to go before he lost what remained of his vision. He'd already pocketed the medicated sunglasses in that hope, but the gigai was proving fairly resilient to his deliberate attempts at deteriorating his vision so that he at least wouldn't have to visually experience this living nightmare.

One of the bottles as well as the pale hand that grasped it drifted into his line of vision, and Mayuri sighed in defeat. He tipped his chin back down to glare at the Fourth Captain before pinching the cap between his thumb and finger, relieving her of the item. He scrutinized the fine print and scoffed before handing the bottle back to her.

"Sure, if you want acne problems a month after."

"Really?" she quirked a quizzical brow, staring at the item intently before putting it back.

The smaller of the two whipped around and pulled out another pair of cylindrical tubes, shoving them at Kurotsuchi. "What about these?"

He was silent as he read the even tinier print on the packaging, and then shook his head.

"Same problem but it can also give you eczema as a bonus. Wait…" he almost grinned at the thought as he tapped his chin, and then got up from his seat, walking over to the rack they'd been making their selections from. He began pulling out bottle after bottle, eventually returning them to their spot after having deemed them inadequate. The female captains were silent as they exchanged uncertain glances and then went back to staring wide-eyed at Kurotsuchi rummaging through beauty products like he'd sift through a bookshelf in search of an elusive text. At some point he'd stilled completely, an afterthought having sprouted in his mind, and turned to the astounded women. "What exactly are you looking for?"

"Something for oily skin?" the younger one requested, eyes glimmering with hope.

His gaze returned to the display rack and produced a white bottle with pastel leaves printed on the label. Soi Fon reached out like a child receiving candy, her mouth ajar in unspoken happiness at the possibility of the cleanser  _actually_  working and resolving her skin troubles. She pressed the cool plastic to her cheek and her eyes fluttered closed in a euphoric trance. The other two stared at her for a while before silently deciding among themselves that they'd be better off ignoring her for now.

"What about you?" he asked and raised a displeased brow when she shrugged.

"I just need something for a couple of gift baskets I'm putting together."

His agitated frown only deepened at the non-explanation but returned to the rack regardless, pulling out one of the bottles he had already assessed at some point and dropped it in her hands.

"This will take care of most problems satisfactorily," he explained matter-of-factly. "What?"

"Nothing," Retsu said with difficulty as she stifled a laugh.

"Guys…" Soi Fong called and they looked over at the shorter woman whose worried eyes were transfixed at something at the other end of the shop. Unohana's gaze followed and landed upon a throng of teenage girls that had blockaded the men's cologne section, a sea of arms reaching out for Byakuya who was dangling off the top shelf. His mouth was agape, probably because he was screaming for dear life but his voice had been drowned out by the screeching of the rabid crowd below. "They finally got him."

"We just turned away for a couple of minutes…" Unohana was shocked.

"Give me a stick, I'll get him down," Kurotsuchi offered, glowering at the nobleman who's pants leg was now in the vice grip of several manicured fingers, the expensive fabric splitting at the seams. If the piece of cloth didn't come off, then his pants would and the already voracious crowd would turn into a frenzy wilder than a pack of starving piranhas. Retsu frowned at him, annoyed.

" _You_  stay here with the bags," it wasn't a request. Soi Fon had already produced what looked like a pez dispenser with a top that resembled a grinning black cat. She observed it intently before flashing Retsu a discouraging expression.

"There's not enough for a crowd this big," the Second Captain related. "I might be forced to do things manually."

"Manually?"

"Meaning I'd literally have to knock them unconscious."

Unohana ignored Kurotsuchi's laugh as she gave Soi Fon a pleading look.

"Trust me," the younger shinigami reassured. "No permanent injuries. They'll just lose consciousness for a couple of hours but it's nothing dangerous. Though you're going to have to hang back because I'm going to use the kikanshinki first, I don't want you accidentally getting caught in the blast."

Kuchiki's scream rang out and the three glanced back to see that his legs had disappeared into the maw of the collective beast pulsating in anticipation of a feast.

"Shit. Okay, this is going to take a while… I guess you can go on ahead without us, Byakuya and I will meet you at the food court. Sound good?"

Unohana had opened her mouth to answer but Byakuya's desperate cries cut her off. The crowd had finally managed to pry him off the shelf and was most likely cannibalizing him, leaving Soi Fon with no time to listen to what her older colleague was going to say. She raced off in the direction of the swarm, a few small puffs of grey smoke wafting into the air following the sounds of muffled explosions. Retsu lingered at the pathetic display and shrugged, turning to face the grinning Kurotsuchi.

"Come on, let's go."

 

* * *

 

"Hey… hey Eiji," Tatsumaru waved to his friend. The man straightened as he lifted his nose from a two-page spread of a gravure model and glared at his "coworker". He was offended at having his attention drawn from the magazine and was ready to kick Tatsumaru in the shins. But the shorter yakuza wasn't even looking at him, instead grinning in the direction of the counter – whatever it was, Tatsumaru had the idea that it was something more worthy of attention than the tan lines on this month's breakout model. His curiosity piqued, Eiji leaned over the magazine rack; his jaw nearly dropped at the sight of the vulgar creature at the counter.

The man was dressed in the most painful purple he had ever seen on someone who wasn't soliciting sex outside the pleasure districts, and coupled with that bright blue dye on an undercut this guy was definitely trying to make shoppers go blind. But it was the getup in particular made it apparent that this was some new recruit bottom-feeder who was way over his head thinking he could get away dressing this flashy in public. He saw the grunt pull out a note from a really fat stack wedged inside his wallet and slap it down on the face of the counter, the weirded out cashier warily accepting the money and handing him what seemed to be a box of nicotine patches.

It was offensive to see a junior yakuza carrying around that much money and showing off to boot. It had been mildly hilarious to Eiji when he first laid eyes on him but the moment he saw the fat wallet, he felt his blood boil. There was no way a lowly grunt would dare to hang out with his balls in the open like that, especially in Sawajima territory. It was likely that this idiot was from a rival family who didn't know how things worked and was in desperate need of being put into his place. Eiji slammed the magazine shut, his jaw clenched as he shot Tatsumaru a determined look.

"Fuck this guy… what's he doing prancing about like some hotshot on our turf?" Eiji fumed.

"I ain't ever seen him before," the usually not-so-bright Tatsumaru blinked, his amusement also disintegrating the more he thought about it. "And I ain't thinkin' he's one of us, Eiji!"

"Yeah, I had the same hunch. Our juniors aren't stupid enough to pull a stunt like that in broad daylight," came the reply. He glared daggers into the blissfully unaware "yakuza" who rolled up his sleeve and stuck five or so patches on his arm before covering it up again, but felt his anger suddenly dissipate when the serene figure of a braided lady came into view. She had a couple of plushie charms in her hands which she was gazing at intently, silently mulling over which one she should pick. Eiji felt his cheeks heating up the longer he stared at the woman who seemed to have walked out of a painting, a creature far more alluring and much more tangible than the tanned girls in the magazine he had been so engrossed in a while ago. He followed her graceful movement, wondering if he had ever seen her around these parts or if she was a visitor, and saw her lashes lift toward the piece of work who was still hanging about the counter.

Fuck no.

Eiji's blood began boiling with renewed fervor as he saw the woman approach the purple roach. It was maddening enough to see that shitstain throw his money about like he owned the place, but now he was putting moves on  _his_  girl! It was too much for his pride as a yakuza and as a man to take, and he grasped Tatsumaru's arm, shaking him out of the trance that woman had also put him in.

"Come on," Eiji pushed fervently. "Let's teach this asshole a lesson."

At the orders of his friend, Tatsumaru made a seamless transition from clueless buffoon to a killer with a lust for blood. Fishing out a Swiss army knife from his coat pocket, he took the lead as the two began to make their way for the grunt.

"Captain Kurotsuchi, what would you think your lieutenant would prefer? Cat, rabbit or frog?"

The pair froze in their tracks. Did they just hear her call him a  _captain_?

"A slug," the blue-haired man replied dismissively, having picked up a nature magazine at some point and burying his nose in it. His dialect was refined, not something that was commonly heard in these parts, and it sounded incredibly intimidating to the yakuza. With his face in full view, they could now take note of his incredibly foreign features – he didn't exactly look Japanese, although that intimidating name she called him by certainly was. Tatsumaru exchanged a confused glance with his friend and all Eiji could do was gesture that they hold back for now and observe things before they wind up doing something stupid. The smaller of the two looked unsure but pocketed the knife anyway.

"Rabbit it is," the braided woman declared and returned the other charms to their shelf before turning back to Kurotsuchi. "And I have something for you too. Care to take a guess?"

"A guarantee that you're going to ask the Captain-Commander to send me back?" the man asked, looking away from the book although his expression conveyed that he wasn't expecting an answer that he'd like. The lady smiled and shook her head, at which he rolled his eyes and returned to the magazine, unaware of the two yakuza who stood a little distance away from him, sweating buckets. The thugs gulped and began to slowly back away until they were safely hidden behind the magazine racks once more.

"Eiji, who the fuck are these people?" Tatsumaru whispered in fright, every now and then risking a quick glance at the pair of strangers at the counter. His friend was silent as he shook in his boots, a quivering hand pulling out a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbing at the sweat that cascaded down his brow.

"I don't know, man…" he replied after taking another gulp. "But whoever they are, they're serious business. We better let the boss know about this."

Tatsumaru nodded obediently, and then taking one last peek to make sure that the dangerous pair hadn't been alerted to their presence, ducked low. Praying to the heavens, the two then slunk out of the store, breaking into a mad run as soon as they were certain they were out of sight, the "captains" having never known about their presence.

 

* * *

 

"Take another guess," Retsu urged but Mayuri had lost any interest he had in the conversation as soon as she confirmed that she wasn't going to contact the Commander about letting him off the vacation. The two were blatant about their collusion in devising and executing his torture, and what meager hope he had placed in Unohana's tenderness had been quickly dashed when she had refused to entertain his request, several times. So much for that, he could either bear with it or induce a high that would keep his mind distracted enough to be unable to register the next two weeks. He decided to try the latter, though how he was going to do that he couldn't figure out so long as he was still in this suffocating mall.

Soi Fon and Byakuya got their break after they had to book it because of the mob, a fact which had only come to light when Unohana's pager began beeping. The midget from the Second had called to let her know that the crowed had nearly overwhelmed them, and while still in a gigai that significantly limited her powers the best she could do was nab Kuchiki and make a run for it. He could barely make out her voice over the screams that blared from the tiny speakers of the Fourth Captain's pager, but the situation had been disheartening enough for the older woman to declare an end to their shopping trip.

And thank fuck, he was getting tired lobbing all these bags around.

"Cyanide," he "guessed", not even bothering to look at her shaking her head a second time.

"Even better," she teased and then held out  _something_  that Kurotsuchi kept ignoring until she practically shoved it into his face. His head jerked back at the sudden intrusion and his eyes beheld another plushie charm: a dog.

"Why?" it was more of a dry statement than a question but the woman seemed compelled to explain anyway.

"I love dogs," she said and Mayuri shot her a confused glare. She was smirking in a way that made him uneasy for a reason that he couldn't deduce other than his flight responses mistaking the grin as a predator baring its sharp teeth threateningly at its prey. He remained silent for an uncomfortably long time, growing all the more baffled and agitated with each second until he finally realized that he really wanted to know what she had meant by that. She must have read his thoughts for she let out an innocent chuckle (in sound alone, for her expressions betrayed her depraved inclinations) and continued. "I think dogs make amazing pets. They're loyal, obedient, and with a little effort even the most stubborn mutt can learn to take commands in as little as two weeks."

Mayuri's eyes were wide in sheer indignant awe.

"And when I saw this little doggy," she lowered her gaze to the soft charm, its black beady eyes shaped as if it was begging for affection, before once again meeting the golden irises of the Twelfth Captain. "I couldn't help but think of you."

The smile she wore could trick the universe into summoning a rainbow right within the confines of the well-lit shop, and Mayuri was perhaps the only soul in all of reality who fully recognized how sinister it actually was. Shocked into momentary silence, his eyes followed her path to the cashier and then settled on the assortment of cutesy animal keychains she dumped on the countertop. His gaze locked with the black, lifeless stare of the rotund little dog, a foul, pink tongue of felt cloth sticking out under the triangular patch meant to represent its nose. A despicable thing. Ugly and offensive to his intellect and aesthetic.

_She had the gall..._

Fine then.

Two could play at this game.

A hideous, daring smirk bloomed on his face as he smacked his palm square down upon the doggy charm, squishing it against the marble top and making the cashier jump. Retsu's haughty look visibly faltered as she slowly turned an apprehensive glare to the the toy that he now spun by the chainring on one slender finger. Displeased, she gave him a silent, grim scowl.

_Oh, it is **on**._


	5. Death God, Pet Dog, Maybe Both

It took a lot to make Retsu doubt herself. As a healer, regret wasn't something she wanted to be acquainted with; she simply didn't have any room for mistakes given her field. In other aspects of life however she could afford to slip up from time to time, giving quarter to mistakes where she knew she would suffer the mildest scratch to her conscience or reputation. Heavy blows, though, she never knew she ever had the strength to deal with, only because she had never let a situation get so out of hand that the repercussions would magnify to unbearable extents. Unohana had always been a careful creature, always testing the ice lest it crack under her feet and sink her to the cold depths.

But today she found herself stranded on a quickly crumbling icy raft, torrential waters tossing her about in the midst of a storm with no spit of land or another soul in sight.

Something had gone terribly awry, a single variable that threatened to throw all her meticulously crafted plans right back into face. A threat that she'd been well aware of but either remained oblivious to or purposefully ignored the incredible danger it posed. And now that the warning signs had become so obnoxious that she'd have to be a complete moron to not notice, Unohana realised that this was the first time in her life that she had felt so uncertain of herself.

When he'd decided to read her thinly-veiled threat as a challenge, Retsu instantly recognized the unpleasant feeling lingering in the back of her mind as regret. Of course there was nothing the freak could come up with that she couldn't dust off her shoulder – she'd done that countless times before with his innumerable poisonous concoctions and just as poisonous personality. But something about the whole situation, how difficult it was proving to be professional where profession was meant to be forgotten and the vicious encounters resulting from it, had Retsu thinking that perhaps, just maybe, she hadn't thought things through as well as she'd hoped. And against this unpredictable lunatic, poor planning was a death sentence.

Did the promise of power so overwhelm all rational reason that she never realised exactly what she had gotten herself into until it was too late? She had wanted to blame Yamamoto, to refuse responsibility for her own actions by claiming that she had been duped into the situation she was in right now but she was too familiar with reality to unburden herself so easily. And turning back now was to accept defeat when the battle was yet still being fought with wits rather than teeth and claws. Had she been anyone else, she would have succumbed to panic at the mere suggestion of her own plans miserably slipping through her fingers. But she  _wasn't_  anyone else. The experiences of nearly a thousand years lived on bloody battlefields and equally bloody hospital wards had given her a resolve that wouldn't snap even if the King willed it.

Retsu Unohana didn't know the meaning of defeat.

"Well I'll be…"

Amidst the din of chattering shoppers, a lone, familiar voice had managed to stir her from her thoughts and she turned in the direction from which it had originated from. She had instantly recognized the speaker even while she had yet to completely emerge from her pondering, and the image that had formed in her mind, of a set of gleaming fangs cast in a "catty" grin, was perfectly reflected in the woman now standing before her.

Yoruichi Shihoin's face seemed to be set that way at birth, and it came off as confrontational to those who didn't know her all that well. The only time she wasn't giving a smug look was when she was pissed off or bored, which rarely ever happened for a woman who found excitement in one form or the other in practically everything. Seeing one of her former colleagues in the world of the living, Retsu guessed, was probably her highlight of the day. And the distraction having pulled her out of her own dark thoughts, it was the Fourth Captain's highlight as well, and she beamed as Shihoin slinked toward her.

"I knew it, the tabloid headlines were your doing!" she exclaimed and then laughed when the older woman gave her a confused look. "Those kikanshinki Soi Fon has her mitts on got some kick to them. First time I heard someone get alien probing memories."

Unohana's face brightened with realization: she was talking about the memory wipe the Onmitsukido carried out at their arrival in the world of the living. Though the incident making it to print wasn't exactly a great sign if she wanted the vacation to continue but since it was the tabloids disseminating the information, it would probably never even make it to gossip circles, much less Yamamoto's desk. It was so harmless and silly, and Yoruichi found such humour in it that Unohana couldn't help but laugh along.

"So how's the brat, anyway?" the ex-captain prodded, arms folding underneath her ample chest. Retsu did not ignore the hint of concern in the otherwise grinning woman's voice.

"She would have told you better, you just missed her," Retsu answered. "And Captain Kuchiki as well. They were with us a little while ago but they had to leave due to… reasons…"

"Eh, I was hearing talk about a stampede at one of the cosmetics stores. Now that I know it was you guys, I ain't so surprised anymore. Oh, and by the way…" a voracious tint now gleamed in Shihoin's bright, golden eyes. "By  _us_ , did you mean  _him_?"

The Fourth Captain's shoulders drooped as the other woman's gaze shifted toward the expanse behind her, to the very entity that had been the object of her anxiety mere moments ago. She had chosen to ignore him, refusing to deign even a look or a word ever since they'd left the lifestyle store with charms in tow. Kurotsuchi had stopped and made for a bench to tie his shoelaces at some point and Unohana had wordlessly kept walking on ahead, too tired, too miserable and too preoccupied with self-doubt to care about whether or not he was following behind or what he did with all her bags. He hadn't even called out for her either, and the distance as well as the momentary solitude allowed her the breathing room she needed to mull over her thoughts before deciding against pitying herself and instead stand her ground.

That is, if she had any energy to do so. Retsu suddenly realised she was too drained to face any confrontation right now, and found herself desperately wishing for some piping hot herbal tea to both soothe her mind and bring life to her aching back and legs. Following the other woman's line of sight, she saw what to any other would have seemed like a sentient mountain of shopping bags and boxes with a pair of legs lumber toward them. Mayuri was glowering over the lip of a tower of shoeboxes that nearly came up to his collar, notably displeased having recognized Unohana's latest company gleaming back at him.

"Hey there, fuckface," Shihoin warmly greeted him.

"Anus breath," he returned.

Retsu's nose scrunched up in disgust, her displeasure at their exchange overpowering her curiosity at how easily the Shihoin woman was able to recognize Kurotsuchi in that gigai.

"You haven't changed a bit," the were-cat grinned playfully before reaching out and ruffling his hair like he was some kid. The patronizing gesture infuriated the Twelfth Captain, but owing to the load in his hands he could do little other than squeeze his eyes shut and expel an angry sigh. Once again, Retsu felt a curious tug at Yoruichi's words, but whatever question that had popped up in her mind was pushed to the back at her awe in seeing the much shorter woman belittle the fuming scientist like that. "Though seeing you here in the world of the living is definitely new. I thought you didn't take breaks. Let me guess: the old man had a hand in this, didn't he?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Yes, please."

"Well, too bad. You want details? Ask him yourself, he'd be delighted to have you over."

"Have it your way. But you at least gotta tell me how you got roped into being the bag boy," she snorted at the audible grumble from the blue-haired man. Kurotsuchi was seething by now and had opened his mouth to retort or maybe unleash a string of curses at her but something else had sprung to his mind, and Unohana watched in creeping dread at how instantaneously his face transitioned from exuding intense repulsiveness to sly glee. He shot a knowing look at her and Retsu furrowed her brows, not liking things one bit.

" _Master_  demanded it," he said, lips curling up to reveal more of his square teeth than what could be seen in his resting expression. " _Woof_."

Retsu blanched, growing cold under the shocked glare of the Shihoin woman who had seen and was now interpreting the wordless exchange that had just passed between the two. There was a momentary silence that fell upon them, save the sounds of a busy and crowded mall roaring about them, and the Fourth Captain stood in the middle of it all, doing all that was possible in her power to keep herself from chokeslamming her co-worker from the Twelfth several feet underground.

"Ah Captain Kurotsuchi, you and your silly jokes," she waved the comment away with a tight-lipped smile.

"We're keeping this a secret?" he tried to sound like he was whispering it to her but was loud enough for anyone within a couple of feet of them to hear. Retsu inhaled deeply and deliberately, her vision slowly starting to turn crimson. Kurotsuchi returned his attention to the other female whose mouth was now hanging open like a fish and began stammering. "Ah yes, joke. It was a joke. I was totally joking. Me and my silly jokes, ha-ha."

"Kid, for your sake you'd better stop right there. You do  _not_  want to push Retsu any further," Yoruichi warned despite the fact that she was relishing in Mayuri's sheer audacity as well as the absurdity of the story he had concocted. He either had little regard for his own life or was incredibly dense to not notice the violent energy Unohana was emitting, but the Shihoin woman was not so stupid as to let his charade go on any longer lest the older woman finally erupt. She'd only ever heard about her fury which had over hundreds of years gained a mythical status – no one had ever seen her truly angry and what little glimpses they had seen of it through the filter of her gentle words and polite smile were enough for even the most disobedient shinigami to do their best to stay in her good graces.

She had to give credit to the Fourth Captain for keeping it together for so long, but didn't count on her veneer of collected calm to remain intact for long. Kurotsuchi had to stop. And the frown he gave her when it turned out she was not buying it was a good indication as any that it wasn't worth his while to keep playing along. She saw Retsu's shoulders relax and the dangerous aura pulsating about her begin to dissipate with the knowledge that Yoruichi was on her side. After all, when it came to choosing between her and the clown, there was no competition.

"I'd better run. I promised Ururu I'd take her bra shopping after she gets done with her club stuff today," she announced, taking a glance at her watch. Turning to Unohana, she took her by her shoulders and beamed. "Let's meet up again! Maybe have lunch or something tomorrow with the rest, do some serious catching up."

"I'd be delighted!"

"You're invited too, numbnuts," she tilted her face in Kurotsuchi's direction who all but grimaced and responded with an "Eat my shorts" that failed to faze the were-cat even still. She diverted her attention back to the Fourth Captain but this time spoke in a subdued tone. "He's all bark, no bite. Don't mind him."

"I don't plan to," came the response, and the healer gave her hands a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Content that she was leaving her ex-colleague in a better mood, she slinked away into the throng of shoppers but not before waving goodbye. Had she turned around to give the two one last look, she would've witnessed Retsu giving a nice hard kick to Mayuri's rear.

 

* * *

 

"Assaulting a fellow officer unprovoked while off-duty? The nerve! I'd be sure to write a lengthy report about this!" the man whined loudly as he slowly began dropping off the bags in the open trunk, the cab driver quizzically shifting his gaze between the two and silently wondering if he'd accidentally picked up a bunch of nutcases. Retsu sighed dismissively, hands on her hips while she did her best to tune out her co-worker's constant prattling. He refused to shut up ever since Yoruichi had left them, obviously to annoy the braided captain to no end but she'd already understood that the best way to deal with him was to give him as little attention as possible.

But goddamn was it hard work trying to ignore Kurotsuchi. And with her patience already wearing thin due to the severe lack of tea or maybe even alcohol in her system, it took a great amount of resolve to maintain this strategy.

"My ass almost broke in half!" he continued and the driver began looking off to the side nervously, searching for hidden cameras and maybe some TV-crew equipment somewhere. "I won't be able to sit down for weeks!"

"You know what?" Retsu finally spoke up, raising her hands in a show of surrender. She walked over to his side and relieved a couple of bags from his grip, setting them down in the trunk before turning back to him, a confident expression on her face. "I'm going to be the bigger person here. You can play your silly games all you want, I won't object."

Mayuri rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to the last of the recently purchased items sitting on the sidewalk and put them with the rest.

"I'm not here to seek your approval," he snapped back. "But if that's what gets you through the night– did you just grab my ass?"

The strange pressure of fingers gliding over his right buttock was unmistakable and he immediately stiffened at the touch. He saw movement from the corner of his eyes and glanced back at Unohana who was giving him a triumphant grin as she sat inside the car.

"Did I?" she queried teasingly and Kurotsuchi remained still, his brain refusing to comprehend what had just transpired as well as failing to notice the Fourth Captain signalling to the cab driver. The sharp noise of the car door snapped him out of his disturbed trance and he saw the window roll down, Retsu leaning her head out the window and waving what seemed to be his wallet. "Enjoy your walk, Captain Kurotsuchi."

The wheels screeched as they turned, kicking up dust into his face and sending him into a coughing fit. He flailed an arm about to clear away the cloud of asphalt that was invading his lungs, slightly opening his eyes to see the cab growing smaller as it raced off into the distance.

 

* * *

 

It was already past lunch when Retsu had finally reached the house, which was why she was understandably confused when she smelled tantalizing aromas drifting out from the kitchen window and scenting the air outside. Assuming either Soi Fon or Kuchiki had whipped something up, she'd crossed the driveway and was about to fish out her keys when the door pulled open from the inside and was met with an unfamiliar face. The stranger beamed as she took a step back and curtseyed, introducing herself as Miki Sugimori with an exaggerated French accent. The Fourth Captain must have been wearing a perplexed expression, for the red-head immediately began explaining in a hurried yet excited tone that her services had been contracted by one Chojiro Sasakibe, and that she was to be their help around the house for the next two weeks.

As if on cue, the girl then produced what she claimed was her certificate as well as the service letter that confirmed her employment here at their temporary abode. If the slightly fetish-y French maid outfit didn't already point it out, Miki went ahead anyway and began counting off the many number of duties that she was to perform, taking care to point out how she excelled in Italian and French cooking. That explained the delicious smells; Retsu felt relieved over how meticulously the Commander had planned the whole vacation, and promptly introduced herself although she did leave out the being a death god part.

Miki had curtseyed once again before stammering an apology over why she'd been late that day – she was meant to have arrived at 9 in the morning and started off with breakfast, but her phone's GPS system was being finicky and she'd gotten lost. That was until she'd run into a hulking man who seemed equally lost as her, but having noticed that he was making his way around with the help of his device's map, she'd worked up the courage to approach the scary fellow and ask for his help. She'd been in great luck because it had turned out they were both heading for the same place, Miki briefing who turned out to be Zaraki on why she was here and what she was meant to do. She'd noted that the man looked deeply confused as she yammered on, as if every word that escape from her mouth was a foreign language to him, but he'd shrugged and let her do as she pleased at the house.

By the time the girl was done profusely apologizing to Unohana, Zaraki had popped his head out of the kitchen, curious over the commotion. Retsu greeted him before asking if he'd be a gentleman and take all the bags out of the cab that was still waiting in the driveway. The Eleventh Captain scoffed in annoyance but lumbered out the door anyway, and Unohana ushered the flustered girl inside as she made her way to the kitchen. Although Miki insisted, a maternal look from the older woman instantly quieted her down, leaving Unohana free to brew herself some much-coveted tea and help herself to a muffin the mortal girl had just baked not long ago.

With a cup finally ready and in her hands, she had made her way to the living room and was coincidentally joined by Soi Fon who went about explaining in miserable detail what a mess Kuchiki's rescue had been.

"He's sleeping it off," the Second Captain remarked tiredly. "I don't know if he'll still be traumatized by the time he wakes up."

"Captain Kuchiki is a man of great resolve," Unohana had scarcely finished the sentence when the entrance door banged open violently, making the younger shinigami nearly jump. Both women turned around and saw Mayuri's lanky figure enter the frame of the living room's entrance, Kenpachi following after him with all their shopping in his arms and a confused expression on his face. The Twelfth Captain's normally dark complexion was tinted red, either due to the heat from the blaring sun or the unbridled fury that was on the very brink of exploding. He was heaving laboriously, sweat-drenched hair glued to his face and hands balled into fists that quivered at his sides. His sharp pupils were squared upon the disinterested Retsu who all but batted her eyes innocently as she sipped away at her tea.

" _You…_ " he began, teeth clenched so tightly that Soi Fon swore she could hear them grating. But whatever threat, insult or assault that was to follow from his end was interrupted by a shocked feminine gasp that came from behind him. The sound was distracting enough that Mayuri had whipped around to see a pale girl in a French maid uniform drop a tray of lemonade she'd been carrying and cry out "Yakuza!"

"Wait, Miki-!" Soi Fon began, leaping off the sofa but in her gigai her reflexes paled in comparison to the mortal girl's, who'd instantly pulled out a small bottle of mace from her skirt pocket and sprayed right into the unsuspecting Kurotsuchi's eyes. The blue-haired shinigami screeched in burning agony as he slapped his palms over his melting orbs and fell to his knees.

"What an unfortunate turn of events," Unohana commented over the mouth of the cup as she tipped it to her lips, a symphony of Mayuri's pained cries, Kenpachi's wild laughter and Miki's panicked apologies ringing throughout the building.

 

* * *

 

"Yoo hoo~!" a woman's voice rang out from above him and Kurotsuchi tilted back his head, shielding his eyes from the blinding sun to better see the feminine silhouette leaning out from the tower's only window. He lifted a hand as a signal to halt and Nemu promptly stopped knocking the two coconut halves she'd been using to produce the sound of a horse's trot. Seeing the pair still, the figure called out to him again. "Are you the prince come to rescue me?"

"What?" Mayuri voiced his confusion but only loudly enough for his ears to hear. The angle of the sun had cast a dark shadow over her features so even if he would squint to try and make out her face from that distance, he wasn't going to get lucky unless he went up to her or she'd come down. He'd already made a circuit around the lone structure and having found no door assumed that it was a long-forgotten monument rather than something that can be made into a home. Yet here was an actual person who seemed to be residing in this column of stone, and it made the blue-haired man ponder how she had gotten inside without any visible entrance.

Perhaps there was a hidden passage somewhere? He could circle around the base one more time and check for signs of an entryway, but decided against it when he saw that the grass remained tall and sprightly except for where he and Nemu had trodden upon. Scratching his chin in mild interest, he eyed the shadowy woman still waiting for his response and took note of the abnormally large size of the singular window. It became instantly apparent that he was staring at the entrance to the mysterious tower, though he still remained curious as to why the building was designed the way it was and why the woman was expecting to be rescued.

Although visibility was poor, her outline and melodic voice were clear indicators of good health. Obviously she had to get nourishment from somewhere, and that meant that there was a means for her to get down and back up into the tower. So if she could leave her stone prison any time, why was she still waiting on the kindness of some prince who would, either some day or never, whisk her away? And suddenly it hit him: none of this was actually happening. A damsel trapped in a single-windowed tower in the middle of the woods was the setup for an old fairytale Mayuri recalled having heard or read somewhere. The details were still blurry, but if this was indeed the story he was thinking of then the woman would let down a curtain of hair nearly as long as the tower for her rescuer to climb up on.

"I'm no prince," Mayuri snickered, having decided to play along and see how the scenario will play out with him interfering in the narrative's logic. "But sure, I'll get you of there as soon as I find my way inside."

"Here, you can use my hair as rope!" the woman suggested excitedly as she ducked back inside to collect her locks, and Kurotsuchi continued to cackle. He wiped the tears brimming in his eyes when he paused to catch his breath but fell silent when he beheld a long black braid dangling in front of his face. There was something eerily familiar about the colour of the hair and the way the braid had been done, but for some reason the name and face of whoever it reminded him of evaded him. He lifted his chin back up toward the woman and it seemed to him that the shadows obscuring her features had suddenly grown a lot darker. He felt his mouth go dry but didn't understand why he was compelled to slowly wrap his fingers around the thick braid and be gently lifted up into the air, drawing ever closer to the only living soul in the tower who had ominously retreated back into her abode.

Arriving at the lip of the entrance, he found purchase on the sill and pulled himself inside a cosy little room. Embers glowed in the fireplace, a lithe black feline curled up on the rug right in front of it snoozing away. Flowers decorated every shelf, table and awning, and potted plants took space along the parameter while framed pictures of several faces, some familiar to Mayuri while others still a mystery, decorated the walls. The interior was the picture of innocence, inviting to the weary traveller looking for a place to rest and feel at home if it were not for the coils of braided black hair that covered nearly every expanse of the floor.

"Aw jeez…" Kurotsuchi groaned when he spotted the owner of the neat plait seated in a wicker chair, finally able to recognise her under the light of the oil lamps.

"You sound disappointed for some reason," Unohana blinked, leaning her cheek into her hand.

"Of course I'm disappointed. I come up here expecting to save a princess and usurp the throne but the damsel here had to be you of all people."

"I'm sorry?"

Mayuri rolled his eyes at her. Her obliviousness was either a ploy in a bid to remain in character or perhaps she was simply just obeying her nature as a fairytale character and playing out her designated role in the age-old story. Whatever the truth was, her blue-haired "prince" had already lost any interest he had in this curious dream and was unwilling to let the rest of the tale laboriously play out. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned back against the window sill.

"Alright, cut it," he ordered. "We know how things go: the witch comes back, she blinds the would-be rescuer and cuts Rapunzel's hair, everyone dies, the end. So let's just skip to the ending."

"The ending?"

"Yes, I'll shove you out of the window first and follow right after once I've seen you explode like a watermelon on the ground. I can only imagine how excellent a mood I'll be in when I wake up with the knowledge that I got to kill you in my dreams."

Retsu tilted her head like a confused puppy, her inaction irritating Kurotsuchi who was now tapping his foot impatiently on the wooden floorboards.

"Come on, I ain't got all day!" he snapped but the woman refused to budge, smiling complacently as she folded her arms in her lap and shook her head at him.

"You're mistaken, Kurotsuchi," she began, the Twelfth Captain lifting a brow at her words. "There's no princess in this story."

The black cat's eyes suddenly snapped open, pupils sharp slits slicing through the very centre of her golden irises. She yawned, revealing a maw lined with several rows of sharp, serrated yellow teeth, and stretched lazily before setting her hungry gaze upon the now frozen man.

"There… there isn't?" he barely managed to squeak despite the suffocating lump that had formed in his throat.

"No."

She slowly rose from her chair and the burning lamps mysteriously flickered at the movement, sending a shock of dread down Mayuri's spine that made him shiver. Or perhaps it was the sudden drop in temperature that was making him involuntarily quake, it was hard to tell but the need to flee overpowered any interest he could possibly have in finding out. But despite the deafening screeches of his survival instincts , his body simply refused to budge, feet planted flat on the wooden floor that creaked under the weight of the myriad coils of hair that now seemed to be slithering about on their own. Whatever threat he tried to vocalize in a feeble attempt to ward her off instead came out as a choked whimper.

"But you are right about there being a witch. She lives in this tower you see, pretending to be a helpless maiden in need of rescue so she could lure in gullible adventurers every now and then."

"W-w-what for?"

The Fourth Captain gave him another tilt of her head, the curve of her lips deepening. The cat meowed impatiently.

"Come now, you know why. Didn't you wonder yourself how I could remain in perfect health if I couldn't leave the tower?"

Something inside him finally snapped, giving life to his petrified muscles, and the blue-haired man whirled around, clambering for the window and the sweet release of a 50 foot drop to his death. He felt a vice grip on his waist and legs, the braid having come to life, and it dragged him away crying out for dear life from his only escape. It twined around his entire body nigh instantly, forming a tight cocoon of plaited black hair that was slowly crushing his bones. Despite having the air in his lungs squeezed out of him, a pained groan somehow managed to escape him, and he lifted his lashes, spotting Retsu's content face and the tail of her braid taking the shape of a massive serpent's head through quickly fading vision. Her tresses parted as the snake widened its maw, swooping down upon its helpless prey.

Mayuri closed his eyes.


	6. All Cats and Dogs Go to Heaven

He stared into the darkness, back wet with perspiration and heart pounding against his ribs. It took him a while to come to the realization that he wasn't inside the belly of the beast, rather he was sprawled on his bed, a pillow crushed against his chest in a bear hug. Releasing his hold on the misshapen pillow, he sat up and reached out in the pitch black for his pager on the nightstand. The screen came to life, the light painful to his still sensitive eyes, and he involuntarily sighed when he saw that it wasn't even 3 in the morning yet.

That dream had frightened him out of his wits and Mayuri was wary about going back to sleep and wind up seeing something just as or even more dreadful. Provided there was a chance slumber would come back to him easily – he was wide awake now and severely annoyed at both the dream and the hour at which he'd come out of it. Dropping back into the mattress, he closed his eyes in a futile attempt to swerve back into oblivion but the gears in his head were already turning at rapid speeds, processing the sounds, smells, sights and sensations of that fairytale nightmare.

He'd never had dreams this surreal before. Since his brain functioned at an abnormally higher order than most people, he only ever dreamt of number and equations from the previous day and would set about solving them in his mind. By the time morning would roll around, he'd have the solutions that only needed to be transliterated from memory to paper, chalkboard or computer. The one he just had right now though was something else entirely. And how frighteningly vivid it had been! So much so that when he'd opened his eyes he genuinely believed for a second that he was still stuck in the nightmare.

Shaken, he sat upright again and kicked his feet over the bed, toeing the carpet for his slippers and sliding them on. He made his way across the dark hall toward the bathroom and flipped on the light switch, standing in front of the mirror to observe the extent of the damage from the mace attack. His face was still blotched red and stung when he rubbed cold water over the affected areas, but the whites of his eyes had at least returned to their normal, healthy colour. The little wench responsible for this would've wound up in a petri dish if it weren't for the fact that she was a damn good cook.

Great, now he felt worse than before. Muttering a long string of curses under his breath, he exited the bathroom and descended the stairs, having decided that a late night snack might put him in a better frame of mind. He noticed the lights in the kitchen were still on but didn't think much about it until he finally turned the bend and found Unohana at the table blinking back at him. Mayuri clutched at his chest, his heart nearly exploding, and slapped his other hand over his mouth to muffle a startled cry.

"You scared the fuck out of me!" he wheezed in a low tone, audible enough for the woman having what looked to be sake but still not so loud that his voice would reach any other rooms. That scare had been real; the nightmare were still fresh in his mind and coming face to face with the witch so soon and so suddenly just wasn't what his nerves needed right now. Said witch rested her chin in her hand and exhaled tiredly, her cup yet to be drained entirely of its contents.

"You scared yourself."

"Well I don't expect to run into people at this ungodly hour unless they're here to burgle the place."

"I could say the very same."

Kurotsuchi scowled at her, failing to dig up a rejoinder. He waved a dismissive hand at her before heading toward the fridge and pulling the door open. He wasn't looking for a squabble right now, the previous day having so worn him out that he simply didn't have enough in him to pick any fights and come out unscathed as well. He ducked down and scoured the contents of the fridge, eyes landing upon a carton of milk.

"How is the, uh…" she trailed off. His shoulders fell when he realised she'd only made the query when she saw the nearly empty milk carton in his hands. He responded with another grimace. Sinking his face inside a wide bowl of milk had done what little it could to alleviate the burning in his eyes and skin but it didn't eliminate the pain completely. It still hurt when he touched the red parts of his face or directly looked at lights, and the humiliation it had wrought him made the pain worse in more ways than one. Kyoraku had joked on several occasions that Kurotsuchi's high tolerance for pain was the result of being pepper-sprayed by pretty women innumerable times. And to think that such a thing actually happened yesterday meant that there was finally some truth to that moronic claim.

Of course, he could've used the single vial of regenerative serum he had brought along with him (just in case, and cases had a habit of popping up where captain-level shinigami were about, even on break) but decided against wasting a literal miracle drug over something as trivial as mace burns. So he'd decided to bear with it until his gigai would heal on its own, and then he'd do his damnedest to forget that yesterday ever happened.

Retsu remained silent, an undecided look on her face. Her eyes slowly travelled from Kurotsuchi to the half-full bottle of sake on the table and then back to the Twelfth Captain again. She seemed to be mentally weighing her options and having finally made her choice placed one delicate finger on the wider end of the bottle, pushing it across the table in his direction.

"Would you like some?" she'd spoken with her characteristic tenderness, but the unsure edge in her tone wasn't lost on him. He eyed the bottle, contemplating the invitation and then remembered the weightless carton in his hand. Shrugging, he walked over, taking a glass from the counter and pouring out enough of the liquid for it to lick the brim. Where chemicals, serums and drugs had completely altered the internal workings of his actual body, alcohol was pitifully ineffective for him. Hence why Kurotsuchi found it distastefully ironic that he was glad his gigai had no such modifications that would make it difficult for him to drink himself into a stupor if he wanted to.

"By the way, Captain Kurotsuchi," she started once again. He took the glass away from his lips and leaned back on the counter, mild indifference colouring his eyes a damp shade. "I had meant to ask back when we had our little run-in with Yoruichi Shihoin but it completely slipped my mind…"

At the mention of that woman's name, his attention was now solely upon the colourless liquid swirling in his glass, disinterest amplified.

"I'm surprised she was able to recognize you with one look. And the way she talked to you, it was as if she was very familiar with you."

"More or less," he said, downing a third of his drink in a single gulp.

"Should I place my bet on "more", then?"

"There are plenty of visual clues that will nudge you in the right direction. You're a smart girl, you can figure it out."

His condescending tone earned him a frown from her but Unohana remained silent regardless, stitching her brows at the "visual clues" he had cryptically hinted at. Did he mean she was to pick apart what she'd seen during their exchange (and the King knows she even remembered half of it, owing to the anger that had consumed her during the Twelfth Captain's distasteful prank)? Or was there something else? It didn't take long for that something to click in her head, and she began compiling mental notes of the eerie similarities between the Shihoin woman and Kurotsuchi's gigai; dark complexion, golden eyes and the odd monochromatic colouration of their hair. Hair of that end of the colour wheel was an occurrence only among the Shihoin clan and, as it turned out, a brighter hue of it in at least one other person that possibly had blood ties with that house.

"You two are related," she vocalized her deductions which his unpleasant wincing confirmed were dead-on. "Distant cousins?"

" _Very_  distant cousins."

Retsu's lips curled up into a cheeky smile, pleased with her detective work as well as one other sliver of information that she'd gleaned from all this. Of course, if he had pointed out his gigai as evidence for his relation with Yoruichi, then that meant its odd look wasn't something arbitrary. Nor was it a deliberate choice to make him stand out so much without the aid of his usual getup. He noticed her giddiness but the long moments of silence that followed, punctuated by the sound of her fingers drumming on the table, disconcerted him. Finding it simply too unbearable, he demanded the reason behind her infuriating grinning.

"I was going to suggest that you forgo wearing all that makeup and stuff," she said, eyeing the sake and wondering if there was still any left in there. It didn't matter anyway since there were several more bottles in the cupboards and she could take out any one if she was in the mood for more. "It would make it easier for me to deal with you if I have a pretty face to look at."

The flustered tint in his cheeks was unmistakable. He grumbled something awkwardly before tipping the tumbler he'd been drinking out from into the sink and storming off, refusing to make eye contact with her as he did. She chuckled at the sound of fleeing footsteps ascend the stairs and took a moderate sip from her cup.

 

* * *

 

His decision to consume alcohol around 3 in the morning turned out in his favor, irrespective of the embarrassment he'd suffered from the Fourth Captain's teasing. He'd fallen asleep as soon as the heat in his cheeks had faded away (thankfully a dreamless slumber this time) but even with 6 hours of shuteye his mind and body didn't feel rested. A cold shower didn't help either, and he trudged his way downstairs into the noisy kitchen where the antsy maid who'd maced him was busy prepping breakfast and making small talk with Hitsugaya. Around the table were the aforementioned boy and Ukitake, Kuchiki and Kyoraku, the latter of which who had his head down on the table and was bawling his eyes out.

What a morning to wake up to.

The noise was beginning to give him a headache and he muttered an order for Nemu to get him his coffee as soon as he took a seat. He noticed the strange look Kuchiki was giving him which he assumed was because of the rash-like blotches face. With the coffee still not in his hands as it should've been the second he gave the command, he barked for Nemu once again only to stop himself when he realized the error. Now the Sixth Captain's smirking made sense. He groaned miserably, pushing himself off the chair to reach the coffeemaker. The girl beat him to it, insisting on getting him some while spouting the same anxious apologies from yesterday. Mayuri rolled his eyes at her and returned to his seat, temples throbbing.

"I miss her so much!" the Eighth Captain whined, blowing his nose on his sleeve. "And she hasn't even called me once all this time!"

"It's hardly even been a day," Jushiro tried his hand at comforting his aching friend but it did little to alleviate his mood.

"That's long enough! She isn't picking up any of my calls… I get she's a busy gal but she could've at least been there to kiss her captain goodbye when he's going on vacation!"

"Well, she hasn't exactly forgiven you for that Valentine's Day card asking her to sit on your face…"

"It's been over a month since then! I ain't ever heard of a sane person holding a grudge that long over something as harmless as a card."

"I think it was the boudoir photograph collection you sent with it that's to blame."

"Whaddya mean? They were great photographs! Really accentuated my pectorals, if I do say so myself…"

"Would you like cream with your coffee, Monsieur Kurotsuchi? Sugar?" Miki inquired as she set the tray down on the table and picked up a spoon to mix the beverage but the Twelfth Captain had already dragged everything closer to him. He grabbed the sugar bowl and poured its contents into the mug, black liquid spilling out and collecting in the tray. "Um…"

"Take this back, Nemu," he said holding the sugar bowl out to nothing and then inexplicably releasing it from his grip, the porcelain splintering upon impact with the floor. Silence followed as all eyes were on the remains of the bowl while Kurotsuchi glared at the hand that had done the deed still distended in the air. Heaving an exasperated sigh, he rested his chin in his palm and took a gulp of his scalding coffee.

 

* * *

 

"Alright, hit 'broadcast'," he instructed and the boy complied. The TV flashed a buffer percentage and mere seconds later the screen switched to an enlarged version of what was on Hitsugaya's soul pager. The video thumbnails were polluted with large lettering and their accompanying titles made generous use of all-caps to make the subject more excitable than it needed to be. Okay, maybe the caps were justified since the content was just as baffling, but the team in charge of uploading the videos to their website didn't need such a strategy to invite more hits. The recordings seem to be doing ridiculously well on their own, as evidenced by the tens of thousands of views and comment threads that grew longer with each passing second, much to the chagrin of the captains who'd just learned of this development. The most recent video was a recording of the last half-an-hour or so of Toshiro's visit to the zoo yesterday, the title screaming "CAPTAINS GONE WILD? SAJIN KOMAMURA'S  **EPIC FAIL**  [YOU HAVE TO WATCH TO BELIEVE!].

Those who had gone shopping or were lost about town had only Jushiro's words and the empty kikanshinki they came back with to go by how completely insane their trip had been. Although in hindsight, it didn't do justice to the actual scale of the chaos that had been unleashed by Sajin that day. It wasn't until a couple of hours after breakfast when a bored Shunsui, who'd happened to have been scrolling through the Publication Department's website on his pager, stumbled into the videos Hitsugaya had been recording all this time. The gravity in his voice as he called on the rest drew a crowd instantly, but there was little that everyone could comfortably see on the tiny screen of his denreishinki. That was when Mayuri suggested broadcasting it to their television, but Shunsui's incompetence with that kind of "advanced" tech led them to anoint the Tenth Captain's pager as the bridge between Seireitei's webspace and their TV in the living world.

There were only three videos on the site so far, the first being Kenpachi's assault of the Substitute Shinigami immediately upon their arrival through the Senkaimon. Aptly titled "SUBSTITUTE SHINIGAMI  **FUCKING** DIES [WARNING: GORE!]", it was the first one Hitsugaya was told to play. It carried out the same way as he had recorded it, save the ad banners that popped up on occasion along the bottom of the player.

The second one had captured said Substitute's grueling battle with invading Menos, although the focus eventually shifts to Kurotsuchi yelling incoherently (the guttural bellowing of the Hollows echoed so loudly that it was impossible to make out what anyone else was saying) as he and Sajin quickly set down a device which looks like it had been cobbled together with kitchen appliances, coat hangers and loads of duct tape. The piece of junk whirrs to life, quivering unstably and the Garganta is seen slowly stitching itself back together. The remaining Hollows are swiftly dealt with but a delirious Ichigo continues to swing his sword in the air. A small explosion is heard out of frame and the camera pans down to reveal a defeated Mayuri covering his face with his palm and Sajin running in from the side to hose down the fire engulfing their contraption.

As soon as the video ended, Byakuya had requested to hold off on playing the final one until he could gather the strength necessary to sit through it. No one said otherwise. They all needed a short moment to collect themselves before asking Hitsugaya to resume.

The last video began in the midst of a stampede of panicking mortals heading for the zoo's exits and escaped animals prowling the pedestrian walkways. Ukitake appears in the frame for a few moments with his hands in his air, staring in awe at the sheer havoc. The focus then shifts to Komamura who is perched atop an elephant, bellowing an animal cry that the beasts seem to comprehend. In the tree that the elephant is standing next to one can spot the leaves moving unnaturally before Kyoraku emerges, carefully inching along a branch and closing the distance between him and his colleague. Spotting a window of opportunity, the Eighth Captain leaps from the branch and tackles Sajin off the elephant, the immediate result of the tussle unknown as a monkey suddenly invades the frame and the video abruptly ends.

"Oh my god, I thought it was never going to end," Soi Fon groaned, rubbing her temple. "What are the comments like?"

Kurotsuchi, curious about what their subordinates were saying about them as well, pressed the navigation buttons on the remote and the screen rolled down to the comment section. The captains winced collectively, some even shielding their eyes from the savagery being unleashed in that section of the page. The top offenders it seemed were their own lieutenants and high-ranking seated officers, making crude jokes about how their respective captains were failing spectacularly to blend in with the crowd, the sheer incompetence that was apparent in the situations they themselves had created, and relating equally embarrassing things they'd seen them do in Seireitei. The latter in particular were generating additional buzz, squad members across different divisions either affirming the truth in what others were relating or contributing to the list of humiliating tales about their superiors.

"We're all going to get the rope when this vacation's over…" Sajin gulped, involuntarily rubbing his neck. "You've just killed us all, Hitsugaya."

"I wish," the boy replied gloomily. "The old man himself gave his approval in the comments."

"Where?" Jushiro demanded, both perplexed as well as excited at the prospect of keeping his job as well as his life. It was the best he or any of them could have despite the great hit their pride and authority had taken thanks to those videos. Save the Tenth Captain, they all leaned out of their seats as Kurotsuchi scrubbed through the comment section, rapidly scouring through the long line of curses, jokes and anecdotes until he finally saw Genryusai's handle and centered it on the screen.

"very niceee !i am really really enjouying this. everyone is havingfun ha ha ha ha…live love laugh, the King bless us…" it read.

A wave of relieved sighs followed.

"Anythin' goes with this guy, huh?" Zaraki wondered out loud

He'd been the only one to remain unaffected by it all, having done crazier shit and possessing little to no regard for the dignity his rank carried. His apathy toward authority and tendency to rip and tear whoever and whatever he felt like were so well-known that the Gotei 13 had given his streak of violence a free pass. The others however didn't have the same buffer as he did, and had further cause to worry for their reputations. They had no reason to enjoy the prospects of possibly being demoted, executed, exiled or becoming a joke among the Gotei 13 that they'd lose all influence over their own division as well as other factions with direct interests in their operations. Half their power lay in the diplomatic edge that their captaincy afforded them, and the other half in their own natural talents.

"Short of murder or porn…" Mayuri quipped morosely as he continued to scroll through the comments, this time slowly. "Oh fucking great, some of them are making up pairings."

"It has to be Hinamori," Byakuya glowered as he sunk further and further into the couch in an attempt to disappear from the face of the earth. He knew how lucky he had been that Hitsugaya had gone to the zoo instead of accompanying them to the mall. Had that been the case, he knew images of him clambering for dear life as women mobbed him would have gotten double-page spreads in the Seireitei Communication.

"It's Hinamori," Shunsui confirmed, having spotted his name in conjunction with Sajin no small number of times in the thread. The only other pair of names that came just as frequently was that of Kenpachi and Ichigo. "Hey, if everything's alright with the old man, can I send my videos too?"

"Well he didn't say we couldn't contribute," Retsu answered where Toshiro chose to remain silent, clearly annoyed that his plans to sabotage the vacation and return to Seireitei sooner than their expected return date had backfired spectacularly. "Captain Hitsugaya is only sending his recordings as part of his assignment. There are no restrictions on the rest of us if we feel like having the Publication Department put our content up on their website."

"Sweet!" he exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air.

"Captain Komamura?" Unohana turned toward said shinigami. "A word, if you will?"

His upright human form deflated, having anticipated the stern talking-to the Fourth Captain was to give him. She'd expressed her disapproval with a downward turn of her lips and a shake of her head back when Ukitake had related the incident to her. It was punishment enough for her of all people to think of him that way, and no amount of pleading that he'd given in to his overwhelming desire for justice was ever going to convince her or anyone else for that matter that he'd been in the right.

The very sight of his fellow beasts robbed of their freedom and being degraded as sideshow attractions to the entertainment of humans had colored his vision red. Though he only had the welfare of his brethren in mind in his attempt to free and then incite them to rebellion, in a strange twist of fate it turned out the zoo animals were actually rather complacent in their quaint enclosures. And why wouldn't they be? They were fed excellent meals on the dot, their abodes regularly cleaned by their human handlers and they had medical coverage too, all free of cost! Though they did thank Sajin in their language for pulling this exciting stunt, they weren't interested in making a break for the wilderness when the nearest forest was an island over.

With the revolt having been aborted before it was even conceived and being knocked from his perch by Kyoraku, he and his friends had been left to deal with the terrorized humans who were unfortunate to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Hence why their kikanshinki were now empty and there were no news reports of the incident on the local channels yet. He'd figured Retsu's muted objection was the worst he was going to get (and for him, it was the worst he'd ever gotten from her in his entire life). But now that she had seen for herself just how bad it was, he knew that another shake of the head wasn't going to suffice as proper punishment. Had he still been in his real form, his ears would have been drooping at his temple, tail tucked between his legs. In his gigai however, he could only hang his head in shame as he followed her into the kitchen, away from the commotion in the living room.

He had scarcely even crossed the threshold when he heard the doorbell ring. Retsu turned around as well, starting in the opposite direction but halted when Miki bounded down the stairs and assured between hard gulps of breath that she'd get it. The Fourth Captain thanked her and went back into the kitchen where Sajin awaited, his heart sinking.

"Yes?" the young girl called, sticking her head out from behind the door even though she'd opened it wide enough for her to stand comfortably in the frame and not block the way for whoever it was that just rang the bell. There was no one there. Scratching her head, she closed the door and began to make her way upstairs. The bell rang again and she returned to the entrance, once again finding no signs of a visitor. She leaned out and checked the sides to see if the visitor had strolled into the garden but found no soul. The girl pouted and closed the door again.

"Who is it?" Soi Fon appeared in the entrance to the living room.

"It was no one," she replied cheerily. "Probably some kids playing a prank or just the doorbell being finicky-"

 _Ding-dong_.

Miki reached for the doorknob but the smaller woman stayed her hand.

"I'll see who it is. You can go back to whatever you were doing before."

She nodded and then ascended the stairs. Soi Fon pulled open the front door and stepped into the entranceway, hands on her hips as she surveyed the area. True to what the mortal girl had said, she spotted no one. She shrugged and was about to close the door when a voice near her feet said "Down here." Her eyes followed and beheld a cat, its coat a slick and shiny black and its eyes a vivid gold.

"Hey there, Soi Fon," the creature spoke in a husky, masculine voice. There was no way she couldn't recognize who it was. Overcome with awe and humility at being graced by her idol and former master's presence, the petite shinigami fell to her knees and began stuttering an apology for having failed to note her presence.

"Groveling doesn't become you," Yoruichi sighed. "Loosen up a little, kid. This isn't how you're supposed to enjoy your time off."

"Yes, Yoruichi-sama," she exclaimed and then touched her head upon the floor. "As you command, Yoruichi-sama."

"Jeez…" the feline rolled her eyes and then quietly padded inside, Soi Fon crawling after her while still in a kowtow position.

Her acute hearing had picked up disgruntled noises coming from inside long before she sauntered up the driveway. It was only when she finally had access to the interior that she was able to distinguish which voice belonged to whom. Peeking into the living room, she saw pained expressions on everyone's faces as they remain absorbed in whatever it was on their television screen. She heard the soft voice of a woman from the opposite room and turned in that direction, the Second Captain still scurrying along after, refusing to lift up her head.

Yoruichi came across a downcast man in a chair and Retsu Unohana who bent over at his side, a reassuring hand on his shoulder and a sympathetic smile on her lips. "Are we clear?" she heard the older woman say and the stranger nodded guiltily. Whatever their talk had been, it was apparent that it had ended, although it was difficult for the cat to understand why this new face was taking it so hard when the Fourth Captain's expression was so obviously tender. Then again, with the exception of Yoruichi and a few stray others, not everyone could read Unohana well enough to know when to take her kind words as encouragement or when to take them as a threat. Here it was most definitely the former and, to Yoruichi's great luck, it also meant she could crash this conversation without any disapproval from either party.

She bounded up the table and the two were taken aback for a second at the sudden appearance of a cat in their midst. The healer's eyes lit up when she recognized her, although for some reason the stranger right next to her stiffened, wide eyes locked on her. Yoruichi would've lifted a brow if her current form allowed it.

"Hello Unohana," the cat sounded ecstatic despite the deep baritone. She then shifted her gaze her stunned company. "And Somebody…?"

"Oh, this is…" the braided captain began but trailed off when she saw Sajin's mouth twitch into an apprehensive snarl. The feline had seen it too, sensing the threat far more acutely than her former colleague and slowly backing away. "I think you should run."

" **CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!** " the Seventh Captain bellowed, bringing two boulder-like fists down upon the table, taking entire chunks out of the marble. Yoruichi hissed and leaped off the table, the berserker vaulting after her and knocking down all the chairs. Riled into action, Soi Fon scrambled to her feet to come after her idol's aid but Komamura's hulking gigai barreled into her from the side. The petite woman was tossed across the room and would have slammed into the cabinets had it not been for Retsu catching her in her arms. The small creature clambered for the counter, skidding across the polished surface and narrowly avoiding the chair that came crashed down, pulverized the coffeemaker.

The Fourth Captain's pleas for him to stop went unheard, his animal instincts drowning any hint of rational thought. It was much the same case for Yoruichi who, blinded by profound fright, let her legs carry her across the slippery counter and into utensils and appliances. The kitchen entrance finally came into view and her muscles instinctively flexed, releasing with a sudden and powerful pop and sending her gliding across the air.

So when Kurotsuchi appeared under the arch, the commotion having drawn him as well as the others to come running to the kitchen, there were only so many ways things could have turned out. In the split second that it all happened, all Mayuri saw was a cat in mid-air with its claws outstretched before he felt a mass of muscle and fur collide into his nose. And in the next moment, excruciating pain bloomed where the beast had embedded its claws into his scalp.

He screamed.

What is a man to do with a cat latched on to his face? It wasn't a thought that the Twelfth Captain had any reason to entertain until now. The pain was so incredible that he wanted nothing more than to rid himself of it immediately, a moment of panic that led him to unwisely pull the cat off in one fluid motion. The claws raked deep lacerations across his scalp and face, coaxing a curse from him so foul that it would make even the toughest among the Eleventh blush. He tossed the creature helplessly wriggling in his grip over his head, only to see Komamura now torpedoing toward him.

A legendary thud reverberated across the house, Mayuri and Sajin a jumble of limbs sprawled out across the floor. Kenpachi erupted into a howl, grabbing his stomach and leaning against the wall for support as Sajin slowly lifted himself to his knees. He rubbed the side of his head, senses finally returning and he suddenly realized where he was and what was happening. He quickly pushed his weight off the crushed Twelfth Captain, sputtering out apologies as Kyoraku and Jushiro rushed over to his aid.

"Holy shit!" Shunsui exclaimed in awe as he propped the near-comatose Kurotsuchi up. "His eyes are making those swirly things you see in cartoons!"

"ThIs isN't EvEn mY fInAL fORm…" they heard the delirious shinigami mutter before his head lulled to the side, completely unconscious.


	7. Watching it All Go Up in Smoke

It was difficult to explain to Miki why the kitchen was in a state of such disrepair. All Retsu could offer was that Sajin  _really_  didn't like cats. She was relieved in some ways that the girl wasn't too bright and took what was fed to her at face-value. Though the way she trembled nervously when she saw Komamura's handiwork for herself left the Fourth Captain with doubts that she was going stick around after this. Unfortunately, Miki's fragile psyche was the least of her priorities at the moment.

Isolating the Seventh Captain in his room and giving him a fierce lecture was the first thing she crossed off the list in her head. And Soi Fon giving her the OK after confirming Retsu was successful in breaking her fall and saving her from injury was yet more progress. Next order of things was to retrieve the quivering Yoruichi who was latched onto the ceiling. She had to employ Kenpachi's aid – his towering frame allowed him to easily reach the traumatized creature, though Unohana had to supervise the operation for fear he'd accidentally crush her in his strong hands.

He was shockingly gentle as he plucked the cat off the ceiling and transferred her to Soi Fon's comforting embrace. The older woman's chest burned with guilt, realizing that her notions about the Eleventh Captain were a little prejudiced. She'd sometimes forget that his course and menacing appearance was often offset by the presence of a cheery toddler hanging off his shoulder. And brushing aside all the questionable things he inadvertently exposed her to by bringing her along everywhere he went, the fact that Kusajishi could only gush over her "best friend" was proof enough that he knew how to be caring. So Retsu took a pause from fretting over the mess all around her to thank him deeply for his help, catching the blush in his cheeks before he turned his head away with a harrumph. She couldn't help but laugh inwardly at his boyish awkwardness.

'Back to business,' she thought, taking a deep breath before heading into the living room where the real victim of today's debacle awaited. Retsu knew that this wasn't how she was supposed to triage, but in her current situation it was best to leave the absolute worst for last.

Seated in the comfy chair, Kurotsuchi was hunched over his lap with a pack of frozen peas pressed against his crotch. He was in a world of pain as evidenced by his muffled groans that were making Shunsui uncomfortable, either because he'd been in a similar situation before or seeing the Twelfth Captain's predicament made him worry for the safety of his own set of family jewels. Whatever the reason, the bearded shinigami chose to keep his distance together with Jushiro.

Sajin had managed to knee Kurotsuchi's nuts when he'd accidentally tackled him to the floor. They only found out when Toshiro splashed the insensate Mayuri with a glass of cold water and he promptly jerked to life, only to double over at the pain between his legs. The characteristic limp in his walk as he was led off by Jushiro confirmed that the extent of damage he had suffered was far more than what she had initially thought.

"How are you doing there?" Byakuya queried as he entered the room and stood beside the Fourth Captain. Mayuri said nothing. Instead he pulled out the bag of melted peas from under him and dropped them on the carpet. Their gazes followed his hand as it slowly retreated back to cradle his throbbing gnads.

Unohana was, more or less, wary about how she could possibly go about this. She had seen and treated all kinds of patients in her lifetime, but never a soul from the Twelfth Division. After all, she never had a reason to, seeing how they were all well-stocked with the necessary (and sometimes unnecessary) equipment, drugs and organic parts to curb all ailments and injuries on their own. Or perhaps it was the higher ranking officers that had that privilege while the grunts were used as test subjects. She didn't have enough knowledge about how the Twelfth operated for her to make any judgment.

But there was no SRDI here, and no miracle procedure, medicine or contraption attuned to Kurotsuchi's curious biology that would mend him in a manner of seconds. His healing, unfortunately for the both of them, was in her hands now. She squatted down in front of him so she was even with his eyes, although he was hanging his head over his knees so she was only presented with the back of his neck.

"Alright, look up," Retsu coaxed, surprised at herself for actually feeling bad for the guy. "Let's see what we've got on our hands here."

As expected, he refused to comply, awkwardly shifting away from her despite his odd posture. She had to stifle the exasperated sigh that nearly escaped her. Tough patients didn't really come her way owing to the fact that Unohana could simply scold just about anyone into behaving like good little boys and girls when under her care. Then again, she never once found herself in a situation where she had to treat the psychotic clown from the Twelfth until today. It had to be now of all times (on her break, goddammit) that she was going to have her first ever patient from hell.

Or maybe she was overthinking things, she told herself. The way he was right now was the most pathetic she had ever seen him. And that was saying something considering the Twelfth Captain hardly ever let up his veneer of being an annoying and tough-to-kill bastard in front of everyone. If anything, a crushed and utterly humiliated Kurotsuchi was probably the easiest version of him that she could deal with.

"Captain…" she warned, and watched with relief as his shoulders drooped in defeat. Sheer stubbornness was the only reason why he hesitated to obey her command. Retsu chose not to repeat herself a third time, knowing that he'd heard her and was likely mustering the courage to display his humiliating markings to her. When he finally lifted his head, she heard Byakuya wince audibly and then clench his fist over his mouth, shaken by Yoruichi's handiwork.

"Oh, that is…" he trailed off when he couldn't find a suitable word to express how nasty the wounds were. Their curiosity piqued, Kyoraku and Ukitake joined Kuchiki and reacted in much the same way as their younger colleague. There was something that was both repulsive and awe-inducing in the perfectly straight rows of split skin, the blood (now dried and congealed) painting his face a deep and dark red. There was so much blood that anyone could have missed the fact that he'd spilled even more from his crushed nose.

"You look like someone used you face as a chopping board," the bearded shinigami said, his mouth pulled down in an uncomfortable grimace. "Like you slipped and fell face-first on a cheese grater, or got run over with a lawn mower. You look like the Shin'o Academy used your face as a dummy for swordsmanship classes. You look like–"

" _I get it_ ," Mayuri seethed, already suffering from the pain of having to contort his facial muscles and flap his injured lips to talk. He then grumbled something along the lines of "Lesions, burns, what's next? Face-huggers?" but they weren't too sure.

Retsu signaled the others to back off and they wordlessly obeyed, albeit still hanging about so they could gawk at the remains of the Twelfth Captain's visage. Taking advantage of the fact that he was still (barely) cooperating, she reached out but he recoiled from her before she could even graze his skin.

"Stop being a child," she chastised him, feeling her patience wearing thin. He winced, almost as if he was expecting to get punched in the teeth when her fingers held his scruffy chin. She gently turned his head either side, observing that the cuts (though numerous and stretched across nearly the entire circumference of his skull) weren't deep enough to warrant stitches.

Kido healing would of course get the job done in a matter of moments but the reiatsu it normally produced would attract all manner of Hollow to their abode. She could however perform a considerably weaker version of it but it would take a while to completely mend the rent flesh, which was a problem since she'd have to physically maintain contact between her hands and the affected area for an awkward amount of time. Of course, the alternative was sticking a shitton of bandaids to his face for a day or two until the wounds would start to scab. And it was definitely going to scar, but she didn't think it would matter much since he'd be out of the gigai and back to normal life in a matter of days.

She sighed inwardly, forming a mental image of the King so she had someone to demand answers as to why she'd been thrust into such a sitiuation.

"First, we need to get all this blood cleaned," she began, picturing the King shrugging at her as if there was an even higher force that had dictated she'd be treating the scourge of Seireitei today. She dearly hoped that Mayuri would agree to the less-optimal course of treatment, and she could get out of having to sit around uncomfortably with her palms covering his face for 5 minutes too long. "I would suggest kido healing but the procedure would take slightly longer than normal when in my gigai. If you're hoping for a more conventional approach, we can simply disinfect and then cover up the cuts. Your choice, Captain Kurotsuchi."

"Neither," he said pulling away from her. "I have a better alternative… that I'll go fetch as soon as I'm able to walk."

Guess she did overthink everything. Hearing that was a bigger relief to her than it supposedly was to Kurotsuchi, and she felt a tangible burden being lifted off her shoulders. Smiling, she got up on her feet, rubbing the flakes of dried blood off her fingertips.

"She's feeling –  _fuck!_ " Soi Fon exclaimed as she walked into the den with Yoruichi purring in her arms and saw the devastation that had been wrought to Kurotsuchi's face. The shock had made her forget the good news she was about to announce to everyone and stop in her tracks, mouth agape as she stared at him in horrified wonder. Byakuya directed his attention to her and noted how relaxed the feline the looked, as if she never had been chased by a were-dog in a man's body in the first place.

"You were saying?" he prodded, surprised at Shihoin's quick recovery although his expression didn't show it.

"I was? O-oh yeah! I found a way to cheer Yoruichi-sama up. She's doing  _so_  much better now. "

"What did you do?" Jushiro too was curious now and leaned forward so he could make sure he didn't just mistake the blissful look on the cat's face.

"Well," she demonstrated, one hand slipping out from under Shihoin so she could rub her fingers at the spot where the beast's tail started. Yoruichi's golden eyes flew open and she sang in a voice that was a disturbing cross between a meow and a purr. "I scratched this spot here, you see, and–"

" **SOI FON, NO**!" they all cried out in unison.

 

* * *

 

Akon slowly and deliberately inhaled the smoke from the lit cigarette dangling precariously from his loose lips. He had to stick himself behind the pillar-like power units, the only spot in the entire sub-lab where he could find the necessary peace and quiet to get his hourly intake of tar and nicotine. He was painfully aware that the "No Smoking" signs plastered on every wall and notice board weren't there for aesthetic purposes, yet he still chose to commit this lone violation so he wouldn't have to walk nearly a mile out of the labs and into the open for a couple of drags.

The stiff, piercing taste of tobacco was an added indulgence to the rare solitude he was afforded in the SRDI. Of course the lab was often quiet, but it was the frustration that naturally came with maintaining exactitude at every minor interval of a grand project and expelling every thought or sentiment that had nothing to do with numbers, liquids and compositions that made the atmosphere in the labs so  _loud_. With the addition of Captain Kurotsuchi, it would have been all that it would take for Akon to completely lose his mind.

He didn't discredit the fact that he did have a little bit of a crazy streak in him. After all, how else would he explain why he stuck around under the direct command of Seireitei's most notorious nutcase for well over a century? Or that Akon was usually the first one wholeheartedly on board with the multitude of his captain's ethically questionable endeavors (all in the name of science, of course)? But if he had to be honest, he was possibly the sanest scientist the SRDI had since its inception, a reality that ever so often came under threat of being flipped over its own head. He credited his current Captain with 99% of all accounts where Akon came  _this_  close to finally losing his mind and being forced to live out the rest of his miserable days in a padded asylum cell.

That was where the nicotine came in, dulling his senses but also keeping his mind awake enough for it to function at satisfactory levels. Although he wouldn't say it was what made him want to keep going back into the abyss of insanity that was the SRDI every morning. He wouldn't lay his bets with the thrill of discovery and invention either, since the only exciting parts about it were when questions were raised and the answers to those questions were (in part or whole) found. All the stuff in between – the tests, repeated tests, adjustments, mistakes, explosions, chemical burns, recovery, retests, filing taxes, readjustments, trial runs, failures, retests, getting rejected by Lieutenant Ise  _again_ , more explosions, reworking the insurance policy for injuries and deaths at the workplace, trials, retrials, readjustments, and crunch-period madness – wasn't something he looked forward to.

Truth be told, the only thing holding him and perhaps the rest of the Twelfth together was Lieutenant Kurotsuchi.

He had nursed legitimate concerns back when they'd initiated the Nemuri Project that the resulting creation would be an exact replica of her creator. And Akon swore to himself if that turned out to be the case, he'd throw himself into a vat of acid. Two Mayuri Kurotsuchis was plain overkill. Maybe, he figured, Fate knew that the very existence of the realms would be jeopardized if such a thing were allowed to happen, and wove it so that what came of the Project was the docile, quiet and well-mannered Nemu.

Although she'd picked up on no small number of traits from her "father" and was just weird enough to be at home with the rest of the circus at the SRDI, her existence was like the cool shade of the only tree in an endless desert. Irrespective of the madness that was routine in the Twelfth, of the abuse she constantly suffered by the hand and words of her tyrant parent, of the knowledge that she was nothing more than a measure for her maker's genius, she was the only thing that resembled an actual shinigami in mind and heart than most anyone in the Twelfth.

So how was it that when the SRDI was currently the most slow and stable it had ever been in its century-long history, owing to the absence of the fountain of insanity that was its president, that Nemu was losing her trademark cool?

Akon entertained the idea that the captain and lieutenant had a symbiotic relationship of sorts, where if the two were separated, they'd begin to fall apart where the other couldn't make up for the deficit. Silly as it was, the longer he dwelled on it the more he began to believe his own crackpot idea. Because if he could tell from observation alone, it really did look like Nemu didn't know how to function without her captain screeching at and kicking her around all day. And since most of their projects had come to a standstill ever since their monthly budget had been redirected to fund said captain's dumb vacation, there was little that she had to preoccupy her time and mind with.

The girl was a mess, misplacing reports, tripping over wires, forgetting to carry out simple orders and spacing out for uncomfortably extended periods of time. After watching her pace back and forth between a tool cabinet and workbench, failing to remember what tool it was that she needed to fetch every time she'd slide open the cabinet's doors, Akon decided an intervention was in order. Dropping the cigarette to the floor and crushing it beneath his shoesole, he slowly made his way over to the disoriented Kurotsuchi who was now staring emptily at the workbench. Suddenly lighting up again for the umpteenth time, she whipped around but was met with Akon blocking her way.

"Akon-san, smoking within premises is strictly forbidden," she said in her typically monotone voice. Of course she had noticed him huddled behind the power unit; it was common knowledge that he used the spot as his personal smoking area although for some reason the Captain was the only one who was kept out of the loop about this. And although Nemu would incessantly point out the restrictions on smoking inside the labs every time he did, he'd take his next break in the exact spot again simply because she never snitched.

"Keep at it and one day I might listen to you," he waved away the warning. "What's the problem?"

"I do not know what you mean."

"You've rummaged through that cabinet fourteen times already only to run back empty-handed. You know what I mean."

The girl stared at her own feet, lips thinning into a frown. He'd never seen her make such a face before, a concerning surprise considering Nemu kept a perfectly neutral expression regardless of the state of her emotions. Save maybe the few rare occasions where she'd been subjected to such intense pain that she couldn't help crying out, it was nearly impossible to spot the slightest facial tick in response to, well, anything. Akon grumbled something that sounded incoherent even to him. He wasn't dense enough to fail to understand that the problem wasn't some internal malfunction that he could hot-glue and call it a day (not that Kurotsuchi would design her so poorly that she'd experience malfunctions in the first place). Nemu wasn't a machine, she was a conscious and intelligent organism that thought and felt like all the other shinigami bustling about her. And like her fellow shinigami, she too wasn't immune to the horrors of  _feeling_.

Oh god, how was he supposed to handle this one?

He was no therapist, nor was he great with giving personal advice. If he were, he'd have convinced himself to seek recruitment in a less dysfunctional division a long while ago. As he was now, his apathy combined with the barest hint of loony in his system made him the absolute worse choice as Nemu's emotional support here. But he had to try, didn't he? With the only emblem of sanity within the Twelfth Division falling apart, and her forgetfulness possibly setting back the handful of projects that weren't currently on hold, he couldn't let things go on as they were. After all, he needed to make sure there was a functioning SRDI for his captain to come back too, unless he awaited being carved into pieces and submerged in preservation liquid.

"Akon-san, smoking within premises is strictly forbidden," she repeated when he had fished the pack of cigarettes out of his coat pockets and slipped one between his teeth. He stilled, eyeing the irritation that had yet to leave her countenance.

"Lucky you, today's the day," he drawled, producing a lighter from another pocket. "How about you accompany me outside and we can talk a little."

"Talk about what?"

"Whatever we'll eventually wind up talking about."

The lieutenant hesitated, unsure if she wanted to reveal or even affirm his suspicions about her inner turmoil. Within seconds it had seemed as if she'd processed the pros and cons as rationally as was possible where feelings were concerned, because when next she looked up at him she gave him a resigned nod.

'Can't fuck this up,' he thought to himself, fingers tightening around the lighter and leading the way out of the sub-lab and to the outside world.

 

* * *

 

Mayuri realized his gigai's feet had a tendency to get sore easily. Or perhaps it was also the case in his actual body but his work would have him so thoroughly absorbed that he'd never noticed. Whatever the reality, it didn't do him any good mulling over it because his feet were definitely hurting right now and he really needed to sit down.

He'd walked out of the house without any real plan or reason other than being overcome with an intense need to get as far away from everything as possible. In his haste, he'd left his wallet under his pillow (that thieving wench handed it back to him when she showed up for breakfast) and had even forgone wearing something a little more suited for long walks than flip-flops. His denreishinki was the only exception, mainly because he had it on him since late morning when he and the others were witnessing the smear campaigns being carried out against them on the Seireitei Communication website.

Ah yes, and then he'd been mauled by two different breed of animal, one of which was parading around in a human gigai about the same size and mass as that deranged Zaraki. Kurotsuchi had seriously debated using the flesh supplement already, but his sheer befuddlement and anger at suffering so much bodily harm within the span of barely 36 hours convinced him it was a good time as any. He didn't administer a full dose though – just enough to repair the claw marks and mace burns, though it could do very little to curb the pain in his groin. At least that meant nothing had torn or been ripped off down there, thankfully.

By the time he decided to return downstairs, everyone except Kuchiki, Hitsugaya and Zaraki were nowhere in sight which was a temporary relief to the blue-haired shinigami. The Sixth Captain provided that Kyoraku had gone to fetch some beer, the only piece of information Mayuri received warmly since that meant he had a chance to get so stupidly drunk so as to be rendered incapable of remembering if this day ever happened. The rest apparently had gone out shopping under the revived Yoruichi's insistence. That only left Komamura who Mayuri was aware was moping in his room.

What little respite he'd gotten from the absence of a good chunk of his fellow officers was bogged down by Hitsugaya's decision to return to broadcasting the Seireitei Communication website on the television again. Why? Because squad members were now sending in videos and pictures they'd taken at the barracks over the course of their placement in their respective divisions. The Sixth and Tenth Captains had been threatening others in the comments all this while but at some point the Commander intervened, prompting that captains could not exert command while they were officially off duty. Of course not many were stupid enough to believe they'd go unpunished for when their captains returned, but some brave/stupid souls from the Eighth, Tenth and Thirteenth Divisions were having a field day.

The stuff from the Thirteenth could be discounted because it was mostly happy, wholesome hijinks that made Mayuri want to puke. The rest however was one trashfire after the next. He didn't know if videos of Kyoraku being physically reprimanded by his lieutenant or him doing a suggestive dance on his desk before passing out from alcohol would even illicit a response from that buffoon. It wasn't like he wasn't aware of his own moronic antics. If anything, Shunsui would probably laugh and reminisce about how cute his lieutenant looked or how much fun he had shooting that clip.

Most of what was being posted on behalf of the Tenth was what Lieutenant Matsumoto had personally contributed. And maybe save a stray few, not a single one of them was something that could be viewed without raising suspicions that she might have possibly ripped them off some incredibly questionable sites. Zaraki was having a hoot, and Kurotsuchi admitted that he might have also laughed along if it weren't for the fact that there was the slight possibility that his own squad might make the grave mistake of contributing to this shitfest. He didn't believe his subordinates were  _that_  stupid, even if he would tell them otherwise, but some of them were stupid enough to not comprehend the agony they would be subjected to should they pull such a stunt. Rin in particular worried Mayuri the most.

Naturally, Kurotsuchi decided he too should threaten his squad if they so even dared to think about sending any incriminating pictures of videos about their division. He couldn't however when he saw that his pager had been squashed, likely when Komamura had speared him earlier. He had taken a good few minutes to stare at the broken piece of equipment in his palm in dreadful silence, wondering if he could swallow a couple of bottles of rat poison and end his miserable existence there. When he finally emerged from his dark thoughts, he turned on his heel and walked right out the door to wherever the roads would take him.

Wherever turned out to be the general hospital in Karakura.

Spotting an empty bench, he sighed with relief and took a spot at the far end, stretching out his legs. The sky was now transitioning from the vibrant orange of sunset to the cool blues of dusk, and Kurotsuchi had only realized it when he wondered how long he must have been walking for. He'd thought about getting tools and parts from some phone repair shop several times during his pointless meandering, only to recall that he'd left his wallet back at that demons' cavern he was forced to occupy. And he didn't bank on leaving his pager with a repairman who wouldn't know what to do with a piece of technology that may look a lot like a typical cellular device but was far more complicated than what his means and intelligence would allow.

The only other option, much to Kurotsuchi utter horror and disgust, was to turn to the only soul he was aware of who had what he needed to get the pager in working order. And he loathed having to solicit that abominable man's aid, enough to want to put faith in the biggest screw-ups in his division that they'd resist the temptation to get their 5 minutes of fame before they'd be strapped to the dissection table.

There was one other reason why he wanted his pager fixed as soon as possible that Kurotsuchi would, for the life of him, never admit. He'd convinced himself that he only wanted to get a direct report from either Akon, Hiyosu or Nemu on the state of the labs as well as the projects currently underway. The truth however (and it was something Kurotsuchi knew but refused to acknowledge) was that every single project that required his direct supervision or involvement had been stalled for until his return. And what the SRDI was working on were minor schemes that even the interns could return decent results on. There was absolutely no logical reason for him to contact his subordinates so soon or at all while on break.

Mayuri wanted a functional denreishinki because he wanted to  _talk_.

With Nemu.

And he wasn't ready nor was he willing to accept that fact.

"Having a rough day?" an unfamiliar voice fell upon his ears and Kurotsuchi suddenly became aware of the smell of burning tobacco surrounding him. He turned his face slightly to stare at the suited stranger on another empty bench next to his, taking a deep drag on a lit cigarette. Kurotsuchi could only catch the profile, but he noticed that despite having never seen this man before in his life, there was something eerily familiar about that face. Not that that he needed to wrack his brain about why he felt that way – the shinigami instantly recognized that subdued but telltale aura the moment he was alerted to the man's presence.

And it was apparent that he likewise recognized Mayuri's aura.

Just his luck. And in his gigai, there was nothing much that the Twelfth Captain could do should the "stranger" decide to shoot his ass full of Heilig Pfeil. After all, whether this guy was aware of it or not, he had a personal beef with this particular shinigami he was chatting up tight now. Then again, nothing about his posture or expression indicated any apprehension – distrust and disgust perhaps, but nothing that indicated he felt like killing a death god today.

"No bueno," Mayuri affirmed, tilting back his head to stare at the streetlight above him that had just lit up. Fuck it, if the Quincy preferred being cordial in this conversation then he could afford to push his luck. Besides, that alluring smell of tobacco was making the Twelfth Captain really miss the nicotine patches he'd left back in his room. He'd have to go get them and stick as many of them as there was space on his forehead. "Can I bum one of those?"

Kurotsuchi was mildly shocked when the white-haired man hesitantly complied, holding out his pack and a lighter he pressed against it with his thumb. Mayuri scooted over and wordlessly took the kind offering, putting one in his mouth and lighting it before handing both items back to their rightful owner. He tried taking a long drag but the smoke caught in his throat, inducing a coughing fit that made his eyes water.

"Fuck this gigai," he sputtered, tossing the cigarette on the grass and stamping it out with his flip-flop.

"Why are you here?" the Quincy questioned after he'd seen Mayuri regain his composure.

"I've been trying to answer that question myself," Kurotsuchi narrowed his eyes at the darkening horizon and sunk lower into the bench. "We're on  _vacation_."

The venom in his voice when he enunciated the word "vacation" wasn't lost on the white-haired man who raised a perplexed brow.

"Nine captain-level shinigami appearing in the mortal world for a vacation is too outlandish a pretense."

"You can go ask the witch who came up with this cockamamie scheme herself."

The man was silent as he contemplated Kurotsuchi's moodiness which seemed as genuine as it could possibly get. And he was an expressive man, perhaps a little too easy via his visage alone although he more than made up for it with his unpredictable actions and methods.

"You don't seem like you've been enjoying your stay so far."

"That's an understatement. Though if you want, I can tell you where we're crashing. So if you're ever in the mood to take out a bunch of shinigami in one fell swoop, these two weeks are your only chance."

"Thanks for the suggestion, but I don't think I want to stir another genocidal war."

"You sure?"

The Quincy tossed away his spent cigarette as he lifted himself from his seat.

"Very sure," he exhaled tiredly before turning in the direction of the hospital and stalking off under the rows of streetlights that now burned brightly against the blackish-blue sky. Watching his retreating form, Mayuri scoffed before getting up himself. He really needed those nicotine patches, and maybe a couple of morsels of French cuisine in his stomach if he felt hungry. Stuffing a hand into his sweatpants' pocket, he squeezed the broken pager briefly, growing slightly impatient for the next day to come around so he'd finally be able to search for parts and get it working again.

 

* * *

 

"This is garbage," Yoruichi declared, tossing the pamphlet over her head. Unohana caught it before it drifted to the floor and placed it neatly on the table in front of her. "It reads like a student field trip or something. Did you guys even plan anything before you came here?"

"Not really," Ukitake shrugged. "I mean we all had some idea on what we wanted to do, but nothing like a solid vacation schedule or the like. We don't know much about this place to make one."

"It's a good thing I bumped into you guys so soon, you're practically wasting away your break. How many days you got left until you head back?"

"10…-ish?" Kyoraku guessed and looked toward Kuchiki whose nod confirmed that he was more or less right.

"Perfect. 10 days. That's plenty of time to see everything you need to and have a baller time. Trust me on this, okay? I know how to make your vacation work."

"Alright, so when do you suppose you'd be able to come up with a decent schedule?" Byakuya queried.

"I already have one that I'll let you guys in on tomorrow. For now, here's your swimming wear," Shihoin said, shoving the row of shopping bags she had barricaded her side with in the direction of the shinigami seated around the table. Hitsugaya and Kyoraku leaned out of their chairs to peek into the contents of the bag before exchanging an uncertain glance. "Ukitake had to guess sizes for the folks that didn't come along, so make do with what you get. We're going to the beach. 11 am. On the dot."


	8. Close Encounters of the Twelfth Kind

Nemu didn't dare say she feared for her "father".

To do so was to doubt his genius, a sin so reprehensible to her that not even a slow and excruciatingly painful death at the hands of her captain would suffice as acceptable punishment. But even so, there had been so many moments in her life that Nemu couldn't easily stamp out her concern over his well-being, and had to struggle between maintaining cold composure and acting on impulse. A struggle she'd told herself numerous times over was unneeded. After all, Mayuri-sama was brilliant. No matter how dire a situation, no matter how poor the information that hindered devising a tactic guaranteed to succeed, her captain always,  _always_ , knew how to wiggle his way out.

Though when she did take a pause to recount every single one of those moments where she'd silently fretted for his well-being, she noticed they had all been life-and-death battles. Then why was it, when there was no bloody war to be waged or violent fights to be fought, that Nemu was agonizing over her creator who was currently on vacation? She inwardly sighed, knowing the answer as well as how trivial it sounded regardless of whichever way she presented it to herself. Mayuri-sama was in no physical danger but his current situation indeed threatened his life… or quality of life, to be precise.

She didn't know how this vacation would affect his already sparse sanity – that small smidgen of lucidity, just enough to maintain his position as a captain of the Gotei 13 as well as president of the SRDI. It was that last ounce of his sanity that Nemu could not help but nurse doubts would hold when in such proximity to his fellow captains. All of incredibly stable minds, she didn't question that. Rather, the enemy here was her own father who, for all his incredible genius, was completely bereft of the most basic understanding of social situations. To be thrust into one for two whole weeks, his poor mind could not possibly comprehend such abstractions as "friendliness", "having fun" or even "relaxing".

"So should I worry for him?" she repeated the question for the umpteenth time, though this time it wasn't meant for her mind alone to comprehend. The gentle breeze made her straight bangs lightly brush her forehead, the smoke from Akon's cigarette dispersing though she could still smell its distinct, pungent scent. The third seat slowly pushed himself off against the wall he was leaning against and walked over to her other side so that he stood downwind from her. To prevent the ash from getting into her eyes, Nemu correctly deduced, though now she couldn't catch whiffs of burning tobacco any more. Not that she missed it, but oddly enough it made her even more profoundly aware of her father's absence.

Mayuri-sama appeared to enjoy cigarette smoke and she didn't understand why. They shared plenty of the same likes, dislikes, hobbies and whatnot, but tobacco was one thing their opinions greatly diverged on. She was apathetic about it. The same obviously could not be said about her captain who, although himself had imposed the very protocols that restricted smoking within the labs, pretended to not know about Akon's very poorly veiled escapes behind the power units. The proximity of a ventilator did not exactly eliminate the tell-tale odors which Akon's already affected sense of smell and taste couldn't pick up. The idea that her master was a passive smoker didn't make much sense to her either because he would already inject himself with incredibly potent chemicals that were a better "fix" than nicotine.

It was difficult to understand, yes, but she didn't question it. If Mayuri-sama didn't say anything, then it was not her place to speak about it either. Although she would still remind Akon of his violations, simply out of duty to maintain the various protocols that kept the lab running smoothly and soundly. Good thing he never listened to her.

"If you didn't, then you're not what he expected from you," he said after discarding a spent stick and lighting yet another – his fourteenth one. He was burning through them like he was inhaling air. "We've discussed this before."

"I understand that he expects me to evolve," her green eyes turned toward the sky, clouds invisible in the darkness swallowing the stars that lay scattered in their path. "What does fretting over someone have anything to do with evolution?"

"Well, he's not just anyone to you, is he?" he demanded and Nemu once again went quiet.

He took a long and hard drag before he wedged the shrinking cigarette between his index and middle fingers and severed it from his lips. His hand dropped down to his side, a steady stream of white smoke expelling from his nostrils that disappeared in the soft wind. He was contemplating her question far more deeply than what he felt he needed to, and what he had determined was either too much of a mouthful or sounded painfully idiotic regardless of how much truth it held. Perhaps both, she surmised when she saw him unceremoniously tilt back against the wall for the support his suddenly tired frame refused him. The cigarette continued to slowly disintegrate in his fingers.

"Dreams are always grandiose," he began, almost rolling his eyes at the obviously cringe-worthy way he'd chosen to begin his monologue. "They're so far removed from reality that to give them any sort of validation would be to admit that emotions rather than intellect are what dictate thought."

He paused, exhaling deliberately. He really wasn't great at this whole "comforting" thing that even trying to was making him look like a massive fool. Not that Nemu considered him one, nor that she could ever foster such a mean thought about him. But if she weren't the one he was talking to and any other member of the Twelfth Division stumbled into him while he was spouting all this fluff, they'd never let him live it down.

"You know the story," he picked up again, straining to put abstraction into concrete words and phrases. "You start off as a dream, but that doesn't last because the Captain's already touched in the head so he makes you happen all the same. And when you're born, he realizes he'd been hijacked by sentiment all this time, and every logical thought process that led to your creation was obeying that sentiment. He can't deny it, but neither can he afford to acknowledge that this was how he was able to perform a literal scientific miracle. It's irrational, it's illogical, but it's the truth."

She kept her silence although she had already diverted her gaze from the ink-black sky to her subordinate's fatigued profile. He finally put the cigarette to his lips, the stick having burned away till all that remained was a single drag – he seemed to savor that final puff, smoke billowing out his nostrils and parted mouth.

"I don't think he'll mind it if you call him or something," he said, extinguishing it against the wall. "He'd probably appreciate it even if he pretends otherwise. You'd know better than me, though."

Her eyes followed the discarded butt as it dropped to the ground and was swept away by the wind.

 

* * *

 

Kurotsuchi felt like screaming.

As soon as he'd woken up he realized he was sitting upright in his bed, sweat dripping down his temple and aggravated breaths escaping his parted mouth. His brain began clearing away the cloudiness that obscured his perception of real and imaginary, recent memories of the nightmare he was having prior to jolting awake rushing to the fore. It didn't take a genius to connect the sparse dots and come to the conclusion that the perspiration and erratic breathing were clear signs of a thorough spook. And it was this very conclusion that both annoyed and enraged the shinigami scientist to no end.

It was getting more and more difficult to explain to himself why his subconscious had placed him in a brightly lit boxing ring in an otherwise empty stadium. He remembered the seats being empty despite the nearly opaque darkness shrouding them, yet despite this his ears were being assaulted by the thunderous roars of a juvenile, bloodthirsty crowd. That alone struck intense terror in his heart, but none of that even compared to when an unseen announcer began introducing Kurotsuchi's "opponent". The ground then began trembling, the mat underneath his feet bounding wildly as a great monstrosity emerged from the darkness beyond the ring.

Covered in wild, untamed fur as black as the bleakest night, gleaming teeth and nails several inches long and bared for a gruesome kill that was to follow, and the grotesque heads of a panther and a wolf perched atop powerful, wide shoulders. A beast so mythical in size and constitution would have been met with great intrigue and enthusiasm if Mayuri ever encountered it in real life. But according the logic of his dream, where he was strangely without or possibly unaware of his shinigami talents and tactical wit, he felt nothing but profound, numbing fear.

That was until he'd heard a familiar voice, quiet and subdued amidst the ghosts' screeching but slowly gaining volume and force, drift in from afar. It was a voice he didn't realize he'd been yearning to hear, and for a moment his desire to see that voice materialize into the image of the one person it belonged to overpowered the terror that had seized his body. He had whipped around, his eyes searching desperately through the darkness for the wielder of that voice until he finally spotted a faint outline in the shrouded spectators' seats.

He didn't know what name he wanted to call out – it had completely escaped him. But it didn't matter for the silhouette began making her way with leaden steps through the shadows toward the ring of light, her voice amplifying as the distance between the two shrunk ever so slowly. And it was when she was at the border, a hand adorned with a fingerless white glove penetrating the curtain of light and reaching out across the air, that the distant hum took the form of clear, succinct words.

"Mayuri-sama! Look out!"

It was as if reality came crashing down on him. Spinning on his heels, Kurotsuchi caught the briefest glimpse of the chimera straining against the ropes that had been stretched to their absolute limit. It then released its foothold and the ropes snapped back, launching the creature straight through the air like an arrow let loose, its distended claws forming the arrowhead. All it took was for him to blink and in the next moment he found himself floating weightlessly, a frozen stream of blood entwined with unraveled entrails painting his flight path.

It was either during the fall or when he hit the mat that he'd jolted awake and was now left with damning confusion over what he had just seen and why. Though given the hour and the fact that there was someone else other than him occupying the room, Kurotsuchi couldn't exactly throw a fit like he wanted to. And not out of consideration for the boy's peaceful slumber, but rather because he knew Toshiro would demand to know what was wrong with him for hollering his top off in the middle of the night and correctly conclude that the Twelfth Captain must have had a nightmare. And that would lead to further embarrassment – none of which Mayuri was ready to endure. So he lay back down in his bed simmering, once again counting the seconds until sleep would overcome him even though he knew that wasn't going to happen.

What he was going to do instead was go down into the kitchen and drown himself in alcohol if possible. But when he saw the electric lights of the kitchen spill out on the carpet from his vantage point at the top of the stairs, he stilled. His eyes narrowed apprehensively at the spot of light, the soft sounds of clinking glass and a cabinet door being closed shut barely falling upon his ears.

'Again?' he thought to himself and then glanced back at his bedroom door, wondering if he really needed the drink if it meant having an unwarranted encounter with whoever it was prowling about in the kitchen so late at night. He didn't need to rattle his brain over said prowler's identity – the Fourth Captain had been a common sight these past two nights and if he chose to descend the stairs and walk into the light, it will be the third one in a row. And recalling how their last encounter ended with him blushing like a schoolgirl and making a run for it, he considered if he really needed the booze right now.

Who was he kidding, of course he needed it. Anything was better than turning over restlessly in bed for the next several hours counting Hollows. Besides, he reasoned, there was a possibility that the intoxication would make it difficult for him to register what the Fourth Captain might prattle on about, or maybe even forget all about the night by the time he'd stir awake with a massive hangover.

Having made up his mind, he descended the stairs with heavy footsteps to announce his presence – not that anyone would wake up so easily due to the noise. Shunsui had let them know that the rooms were soundproof ("party-proof" it said on the brochure) last morning, all with a slimy smirk that made Jushiro visibly shudder and then beg his friend not to bring in any "guests" for the night while they still shared a room. Kurotsuchi was yet to test if the claim was completely true, but given no one stirred even as he had slammed the front door closed upon his arrival a few hours ago, he decided that the brochure had some merit to it.

"Ah, Captain Kurotsuchi," she greeted him glancing over her shoulder as he rounded the corner to be bathed in electric light. She'd turned back to the apple she was rinsing off under the running tap, perhaps expecting a verbal acknowledgement from him but he kept his silence. The pleasant smile she'd given him had rubbed him the wrong way, and he expressed his irritation in his posture by crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the jamb. "We missed you at dinner. When did you come back last night?"

"Late," he replied, his gaze drawn toward the knife she reached for and secured in her grasp before turning about to face him.

She set the apple and the knife down on an empty plate on the table, an unopened bottle of sake and an empty glass completing the odd ensemble. His response lacked the context he knew she'd inquire of him and he planned on refusing to divulge, but she seemed to have forgotten to prod him upon finally having a good view of Kurotsuchi. The Fourth Captain supported herself on her palms as she leaned over the table and regarded him with a slight tilt of the head.

"That alternative of yours did a great job," she said with curled lips, impressed. "You look good as new!"

Kurotsuchi scoffed at the commendation, finding it so intrinsically negligible that it didn't make any sense to take pride in it. Of course the supplement did a great job – he wouldn't use it if any other form of healing did better, because then that would defeat the purpose of creating the drug in the first place. He had opened his mouth to let her know just how stupid she sounded but stopped himself when his eyes fell upon the tabletop and the chunks of broken marble that had been haphazardly glued back together. Unohana must have followed his gaze for she next offered an explanation for the table's pathetic condition.

"Since Captain Komamura was the one who'd broken it, it was his responsibility to fix it."

Her words didn't convey why said captain did such a poor job. It looked like a puzzle that was put together the wrong way, with pieces hammered into slots they weren't supposed to go into. Kurotsuchi pushed himself off the jamb and approached the mess, noticing the angle at which the chunks drooped and the solidified glue webs between the myriad cracks. As if to demonstrate the shoddiness of his colleague's work, the Twelfth Captain lightly tapped the edge of a piece that sagged even further, stretching out the glue to its furthest limits.

"He still isn't done yet," the woman added after a couple of seconds of silence followed.

"This better not be coming out of the vacation budget…" Mayuri warned.

His concern was less about risking their break than it was over seeing  _his_  money going down the drain due to the destructive tendencies and carelessness of the others. The paperwork he'd gone over at the Commander's office detailed that the expenditure accounted for the gigai, the rent for the house, their kikanshinki and soul pagers. The rest was reserved for other shit he didn't care to know about since he was already fuming at the precious digits that had been subtracted from the SRDI's pockets back then. Seeing the first signs of damage to their abode now, however, he was hit with a foreboding feeling that this was just a taste for the chaos his colleagues will unleash upon the budget in the days to follow.

"You can rest assured that it's not for this incident," she said, slicing the apple into eight equal pieces.

He didn't like the way she had to specify it for this one instance alone and frowned. His expression must have been what prompted her to offer the sake resting on the preserved remains of the table, and once she did Kurotsuchi was reminded of why he'd come here in the first place. He wordlessly spun on his heel and pried open the refrigerator, his eyes instantly landing upon the rows of clear glass bottles that chimed with the force at which he'd tugged the door. He snatched up one indiscriminately and twisted off the cap, tipping it to his mouth and swallowing a mouthful of the tasteless, smooth liquid that burned its way down his throat.

"Bless that drunken bastard," he sighed with relief, closing his eyes and pressing the bottle of vodka to his chest. "He may be a damn fool, but he knows his drink."

He had chosen to temporarily forget Unohana's presence and relish the warmth that traced its way through his body before reaching his belly. Around 60% proof, he was guessing; he hadn't bothered to read the label when the one thing on his mind was to put alcohol in his system as quickly as possible. Now that he could make out the ghost of a buzz slowly overtaking his senses, he afforded the bottle a gander and smirked that guess had been correct.

"Are you sure about that?" her voice snapped him out of his reverie and he regarded her with an annoyed side-long glance. She was short one apple wedge, a second one pinched between fingers in one hand while resting her chin on the other. "At this hour and on an empty stomach too…?"

"I had leftovers when I came back," he dismissed her concerns with a wave of a hand and another swig of the beverage before turning away from the fridge and seating himself at the ruined corner of the table.

"That looks like some hard stuff, though. Are you certain you can handle it?"

"I hope not."

Unohana raised a quizzical brow at the defiant way he kept chugging the clear liquid, his eyelids getting heavier and his grin growing wider with every intake. That was the plan after all, and it was working swimmingly. Swimmingly, because his vision was now starting to sway as if he was being submerged underwater, the prospect of drowning becoming that much more enticing every passing minute. He still retained enough of his wit to understand the effects the vodka was having on his senses, anticipating with glee when he'd finally lose all control over them.

"For your sake, I hope you'll drag yourself to bed before passing out because I'm not carrying you anywhere," he heard her say and he noticed that she was down to her fourth slice.

"The floor looks plenty cozy to me, I'm good," he wasn't slurring yet, or perhaps he was but it didn't register that well to him. It didn't matter. Great if he was, and it would be if he wasn't at that point of intoxication yet. The alcohol coursing through his system would see to it in due time.

"We like to have our breakfast without someone lying unconscious in their own vomit at our feet."

"Then fucking Kenpachi can drag me outside or whatever, I don't give a shit."

"Don't you?"

"I need to be pleasantly drunk for it," he hummed, turning the now empty bottle on the table and observing the artistic embellishments on the label despite the delicate swishes and curves doubling at certain intervals. "Which I never am but it's a different story while I'm still in gigai."

"That's good information to have," she said, pouring herself her a modest amount of sake. The apple wedges were gone now, save the seeds she'd separated and collected on one side of the plate. "An intoxicated Captain Kurotsuchi sounds like a reasonable guy."

"Count your stars and maybe I'll stay this way for the rest of this vacation."

"An exciting prospect, but given that alcohol and a bad temperament aren't a great combination, I'm going to tell you to lay off the vodka."

"What, you think I might burn down an orphanage in a drunken frenzy or something?" he snorted, leaning into the chair and slinging his arm behind the back.

"Nothing of that extreme, even though some of the things you do while completely lucid may indicate otherwise," she paused as she mulled over his words which seemed to visibly alarm her and then added in a strict tone, "You are  _not_  burning down any orphanages."

The Twelfth Captain emitted a scandalized gasp, his hands splayed over his chest before leaning forward and silently mouthing " _Me?_ " in disbelief. Unohana pursed her lips tightly to keep herself from chuckling and giving any validation to Kurotsuchi's plans of becoming an alcoholic in a record ten days. She nodded, quickly raising her cup so it obscured the smile that broke through when Mayuri reeled back in shock and made a face that strongly resembled the expressions Matsumoto often made when she'd hear an offensive rumor about herself. Except he was deliberately doing this to elicit a laugh from her so that she couldn't say she disapproved of this foolish idea of his.

"I am hurt that you would think of me this way," he returned to a deadpan mood although his voice quivered and pitched erratically as if he was about to break into a sob. "I will not take this indictment lying down."

Unohana wanted to play along but the dramatic flair that accompanied his absurd sayings finally did her in and she couldn't stop herself from guffawing as soon as she opened her mouth. She quickly pressed a hand to her lips, having given up on refusing to betray amusement and instead doing what she could to maintain decorum.

"Do you know what a charge for slander carries?" he demanded.

"200 years in Muken," she answered matter-of-factly and took a sip of sake when she saw Mayuri do a take back, instantly sobering up a little.

"What, really?" he implored, falling out of character, and received a nod as a reply. He fell silent for a brief moment as he wrapped his brain around the nugget of information regarding Seireitei's legal system and how ridiculous the stipulated punishment was. Hell, it was comparable to what one would get for murder! His mood soured, Kurotsuchi turned over in his chair and reached out for an upturned glass on the dish rack, filling it with sake. Retsu didn't protest, so long as it wasn't another bottle of that spirit he'd discovered in the refrigerator. Besides, she found she rather enjoyed his company when he was buzzed. "We've gone without incident for so long that Central Forty-Fucks has to crack down on minor offenses just to stay relevant."

"Captain Kurotsuchi…" the Fourth Captain began, unable to decide if she wanted to be amused or incredulous at his protestations on Central 46's rulings. " _You're_  the reason why slander carries a disproportionately harsh sentence."

His eyes widened at that and he quickly snatched the glass away from his lips before he could inhale the beverage in one go.

"You're making it up," he said pointedly, refusing to believe such a bizarre notion.

"You spread rumors that Captain Kuchiki was a racist and also discriminated against developmentally challenged people."

He froze mid-drink as he searched the recesses of his mind for a strain of memory that corroborated her claims. It didn't take long for realization to finally dawn on him and he gulped the rest of the mouthful before slowly setting the glass down, grin returning to his lips.

"Oh yeah, that was a good one," he reminisced fondly. "Honestly, no one a sense of humor anymore. It was a harmless prank, or are we going to outlaw practical jokes even when it's April Fools?"

"The Sixth didn't see a new recruit for nearly a decade. Not to mention the mountains of reassignment letters, resignations and petitions that somehow even managed to reach the noble households."

"Yeah, see? The way you're describing it right now, it's even funnier in hindsight."

Unohana absolutely could not afford to smile in that moment and encourage him to pull another stunt like that in the near future. Of course there was no truth to his claims that there was any hint of humor to be found in that incident, but Mayuri's method of pretending like he believed his own lies was its own brand of hilarity that was making it incredibly difficult for the Fourth Captain to keep a straight face. She decided to take a deep, calming breath before next opening her mouth unless she wanted to risk bursting into a fit of giggles.

"You are insane, you know that?" she wanted to mutter to herself but she might as well have been speaking directly into his ear for the silence that had settled during her brief pause allowed her words to reach him in pristine condition. Bristling, Retsu immediately followed with a "Don't answer that."

"Well it's a little too late for you to be asking that now, ain't it?"

"Forget I ever did."

"Ahh but how can I? Didn't you say I'm insane?"

His transition from deadpan to theatrics was incredible if it weren't for the fact that he was Mayuri Kurotsuchi and therefore this switch in mood could very well be a sign that he was possibly bipolar. Or so she wanted to think of it this way so she'd feel some sort of guilt for approving anything that the Twelfth Captain did. But her experience told her otherwise, that Kurotsuchi was simply acting out this way for the sake of a couple of harmless laughs here and there. That was about as much good a shinigami of his caliber could possibly render.

"I'm a goddamn threat to society," he warned, eyes slitting dangerously although the façade was incredibly obvious. "I see that 'Stay off the Grass' sign and something inside me compels me to step the fuck all over it."

Retsu was laughing again although a bit more openly, and she cupped a palm over parted mouth once more.

"Don't fucking tell me to separate the plastic from paper, because then I'd throw all the glass and tin cans in there too!"

"Quit it," she barely managed to form the words.

"You know what got me in the Maggot's Nest?"

"What?"

"Shit, this is so messed up that I'm having second thoughts telling you about this," Kurotsuchi's eyes shifted from side to side in search of an eavesdropper while Unohana continued trembling in her seat, miserably failing to suppress her giggling. "You know what I did? I stayed up for a  _whole hour_  past curfew during the Quincy War!"

"Stop!" she begged, tears starting to brim in her eyes. She knew he wasn't going to obey when he was on a roll, especially when he knew he had her doubling over with laughter. Wiping a stray tear from her cheek, she hastily got up from her chair and overturned the last few sips of sake still remaining in her cup into the sink. "Go to bed, we have a long day ahead of us."

"Boy, if that ain't the truth," he grumbled, switching back to irritability so instantaneously that no one could have guessed he'd been cracking jokes a mere second ago. It was as if the briefest contact with reality induced a powerful sobriety that would chase away his stupor and regain dominion over his senses. Unohana contemplated if she should go the extra mile and inform him that she hadn't used an expression just now and that the day ahead of them really was going to be a long one. Her gaze travelled past him and settled on the darkness shrouding the den as well as the single shopping bag that contained the swimwear Jushiro had picked out for Kurotsuchi. She finally decided against it, not wanting to give him any reason to down the remaining vodka in a depressive fit and possibly slip into a coma.

He'd find out in the morning, anyway.

"Good night, Captain Kurotsuchi," Retsu said and inclined her head respectfully. She heard a disgruntled mutter behind her as she made her way to the bedroom and bit down a laugh that tried escaping her one final time.


	9. Obligatory Beach Episode, Part One

 

Miki knew she wasn't the brightest bulb on the porch. But it didn't take any smarts to suspect that her employers were of the… eccentric kind. Well, considerably more eccentric than the typical folk in her life. She wasn't one to judge a book by its cover. Though looking back on her encounter with the abnormally tall and feral-looking Monsieur Zaraki nearly two days ago, she began to wonder if this new book cover came with blatant warning labels that she'd somehow missed.

Weirdos were a guarantee in her profession and she'd been in the business long enough that their strange habits rarely irked her. Her poor intellect  _did_ help her acclimate to her job a lot faster than most others, though that didn't mean she was hopelessly dumb. There was no stain that she couldn't scrub away with careful consideration of the right cleaning tools, chemicals and technique. She had a Midas Touch, leaving nothing but sparklingly clean furniture, carpets, floors and laundry smelling of garden flowers in her wake. And she had a natural charm that when combined with her good looks won her the praise of every client she'd ever had.

Of course, occasionally she'd have to deal with the troublesome kind - employers who expected "bonus" services for a hefty sum that no one besides her needed to know about. They'd take her poor IQ as a fault they could exploit for their own benefit, but she'd had nearly nineteen years' worth of life experience to know how not to back herself into a corner. Hanky-panky was strictly forbidden as per company policy, she would say with a tight-lipped smile. Followed by a warning to refrain from making the offer a second time, lest they wanted to be slapped with a harassment charge.

She'd seen so much and lived through it all that she figured nothing could surprise her anymore.

So when on her first day she'd seen Mademoiselle Soi Fon burst through the door, dragging in a shell-shocked Monsieur Kuchiki by his ankles all the way up the stairs, his head banging violently against the steps, she'd thought none of it. And the fiasco that was her first encounter with Monsieur Kurotsuchi, by way of a reasonable but completely mistaken assumption that he was a yakuza (after all, no one dressed like that unless they were part of some shady organization!), she once again refused to acknowledge the presence of an underlying pattern to her employers' baffling habits.

She did try her hand fishing for answers from the amiable yet distant Monsieur Hitsugaya. A lone child among a group of fairly older adults, he talked and was talked to as their equal. She had a hunch that like Mademoiselle Soi Fon he was far older than he physically seemed to be, but the sharp trill of his voice gave away that he hadn't even hit puberty yet. But the fact that she did question his presence, if for just a second, was what she realized only in retrospect the first creaky turn of the rusted gears in her skull. Too bad they jammed up before even making a complete, singular rotation.

It took Monsieur Komamura's idea of remodeling the kitchen, which involved a cat that was later found clinging to the ceiling for dear life, for the doubts to finally burst through the thick, dull fog perpetually choking her brain. And this time, they'd refused to be stamped out.

Miki had seen messes. The filthiest, dirtiest, most disgusting, nerve-wracking messes that even the cleaning industry's top names would balk at. Yet she'd tackled every single one of them like a challenge that begged to be humbled by her unmatched talents as a housemaid. This one, however, was the first to drain the blood from her face and make her seriously reconsider her life choices.

No human, no matter how strong or how large, could possibly pulverize a marble slab that thick without a power drill or jackhammer at hand. Monsieur Komamura had defied all natural order by succeeding to make do with his fists alone. Kitchen appliances lay gutted, utensils crumpled like they were made of paper, white porcelain crushed into fine powder and chairs that were now only good for firewood. It was sheer violence – a primal hatred that was manifest in every broken, bent and crumpled thing in that kitchen that when she finally laid her frightened eyes on it all did it sound the proverbial alarm in her head.

She didn't know what depths she had to summon the last bit of her sanity from. With trembling hands and swaying knees, she'd approached the ruins that were once the kitchen to try and restore it to its former glory. This was to be her test – a life lived with no challenge unconquered, this assignment was going to prove once and for all whether or not Miki Sugimori really was the best goddamn cosplay French housemaid the world had ever seen.

As if sensing her distress, Monsieur Hitsugaya had offered to help clean up, despite her passionate protests. She didn't succeed in dissuading him - he didn't seem to be the kind of person whose mind could be easily changed. She did admit though that his presence had been calming, reassuring. And when the rubble had started to dwindle away from sight as they cleaned, she'd began slipping back into her comfort zone. All that remained in the end were the pieces of broken tabletop that needed to be slotted back into place that Mademoiselle Unohana had insisted were Monsieur Komamura's responsibility. By then, she'd already forgotten about the warning bells that had once been chiming deafeningly in her ears before. They were a distant echo now, barely audible amidst the soothing hum that underscored the Mademoiselle suggestion: "Why don't you have the rest of the day off, take your mind off everything?"

Whenever the older woman spoke, Miki would instantly be flooded by sweet memories of her mother – an early break didn't sound so bad when it meant she would get to talk to Mama for a bit longer than she did most days. So she quickly whipped up that day's dinner, packed it all in microwaveable containers, retrieved her purse and then walked out the door all before the clock struck two. She'd bought some cute hairclips along the way and had already put them on to sweep away the bangs from her face as soon as she was out of the store. Heated up last night's curry and boiled some rice, said her thanks and finished her meal before dialing for her mother. She talked about her day and Mama talked about hers, exchanging the usual warm goodbyes before they hung up. Booted her laptop so she could watch the latest episode of that American show her friends had gotten her hooked on and scream in ecstasy at the latest romantic moment.

So when the credits finally started to roll and her phone began buzzing, a call from either Tamaki or Yumi depending on who reached the line first, she picked up without even noticing the words "UNKNOWN CALLER" flashing on the screen.

"Oh my god, did you see the part when he took his shirt off in front of her, I was SCREAMING!" she punctuated the sentence with a high-pitched squeal.

"Huh," the voice on the other end was feminine but unfamiliar, and it sent her crashing down from her high instantaneously. She slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the startled cry that would have reached the clearly unimpressed stranger on the other end. "You're in luck today, kid. You'll be seeing plenty of dudes without their shirts tomorrow."

"Excuse me?"

A muffled sound was heard in the back followed by brief crackling, as if the phone had been hastily pried from the caller's hands. A new voice greeted her, and this time Miki recognized who it was.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Unohana, I'm doing well, thank you," the words tumbled out of her mouth as she quickly but not so smoothly switched to the French accent she used for work.

"It so happens that we will be spending all of tomorrow at the beach. So there's no real reason for you coming in for work next morning, now is there?"

"I… I believe so?"

"Now, I'm sure you would want to use your day off however you like, but what would you say to coming along with us? Enjoy the beach, perhaps?"

"There's gonna be free beer!" the stranger from before chimed in from the back. Miki could almost picture the faceless woman leaning over Mademoiselle Unohana's shoulder so that her words could reach through the phone as clearly as possible.

It wasn't as if it was an order. And even if it was, Miki had the right amount of self-confidence and calm to turn down the offer. Which she would've should she have detected the slightest hint of deception or insincerity in those words. But no matter how much she wracked her cob-webbed brain or strained to hear the warning sirens that had once again been muffled by the serene tide that was the Mademoiselle's voice, she didn't see any reason to refuse the request. All she heard was the sound of gentle waves breaking on sun-soaked sand, the squawk of a seagull flying overhead before it swooped into the water and Mama's awed cry as the bird emerged merely a second later, a small fish clasped tightly in its beak.

Of course she fell for it. Not like she had the mental capacity to guard herself against such a tender voice anyway. But now that she was in direct proximity to her current employers, where she had a front-row seat to their bizarre, almost otherworldly ways, she knew she'd accidentally let those waves carry her off to the wider sea.

She'd arrived at 11 am, garbed in her gym clothes while her swimwear and other essentials had been tucked away in an oversized canvas bag. There wasn't a lot of crowd before noon despite it being a Sunday, so she knew she didn't have to wait in line to get changed. She was free to take her time doing up her hair in a large, fluffy topknot that she decorated with artificial hibiscus flowers and dabbing on a little waterproof makeup. It surprised her how quickly she could get dressed and ready without it looking like she'd done anything in haste. Satisfied, she stuffed her track shirt and pants into the bag before making her way to the designated meeting spot, just in time to see the row of cabs riding into the parking area. Familiar faces exited the vehicles, Monsieur Kyoraku especially running over to embrace her in a tight hug. He'd been pulled away by ear by Monsieur Komamura before it started to get a little uncomfortable. She noticed Monsieur Kurotsuchi wasn't amongst them, but it wasn't as if she expected his presence. He was an angry, grumpy old man who scowled with his teeth perpetually bared at the sight of his friends (?) having a good time. So why would he be here?

That question quickly lost its relevance when another cab pulled in.

Miki had thought she was imagining all the muffled barking coming from inside the car, but when the door swung open and a swear-ridden tirade reached her ears, she knew hadn't been mistaken. A gleaming pair of sleek, tawny legs emerged from the vehicle, followed by a gorgeous woman in a hot-pink tunic. Dropping the duffel bag slung over her shoulder onto the pavement, the glamourous creature exhaled noisily and stretched her arms over her head so that it lifted and flattered her already sizeable bosom.

"Don't you just love the beach?" she asked no one in particular. Miki's eyes lit up when she recognized the voice from the phone call yesterday. The phone call that involved her screeching about an actor stripping for the camera thinking it was one of her friends on the other end of the line. She'd been mortified when it turned out it was a complete stranger on the other end but the woman's response hadn't been cruel. A sign of kindness or indifference; whichever one it was, Miki was happy for it. The newcomer froze in that pin-up model pose then stared sidelong into the interior of the car. One corner of her mouth pulled up into a sneer that instantly sent a chill down Miki's spine, despite knowing she wasn't the object of that woman's interest here. "Hey funboy, you gonna come out out already or do I have to make you?"

"Go sit on a flagpole," someone muttered from inside the car and the woman's grin widened as if she was awaiting this very response. She whirled around and dipped into the car, emerging not a second later with an appalled Monsieur Kurotsuchi who she had by the belt of his pants. The blue-haired man was frantic as latched onto the sides of the car door for dear life but he proved to be no match for the surprising strength of this small, sleek lady. A swift tug and the Monsieur had been ripped right off, landing roughly on his butt besides the woman's duffel bag. He swore something nasty.

"Keep the change," she said to the driver, tossing a couple of crisp notes from a man's wallet and then slamming the door shut. Monsieur Kurotsuchi's eyes were wide behind his glasses, and he patted his pockets before turning up a look that could only be described as a cross between shock and anger. He'd uttered one half of a demand as he lifted himself off the ground but was abruptly cut off when the daring woman thrust the wallet as well as her entire hand into the front pocket of his pants. He jumped away from her, shielding his crotch and casting a venomous glare at her.

Miki could only blink, dumbfounded.

"Ladies first," Monsieur Ukitake gestured with his hands, his voice stirring her from her disturbed trance. She held back as she watched the rest, chattering away as if whatever just happened was the most mundane thing in the world. Even the manhandled Monsieur Kurotsuchi was now dusting off his pants, muttering in annoyance rather than running off to the nearest police station to file for harassment like any normal person would have.

Just who were these people and why were they like this?

She recalled that tide again, the one who's gentle ebb she'd let snatch her up and carry far out into the sea. But now, the waves were turning choppy and the happy, sapphire blue of the water and the sky were dissolving into an inky blackness. The seagulls now a relic of a once innocent past, there was now but the dull rumble of approaching thunder and the flash of hot, furious lighting streaking across the fat, dark belly of stormy clouds.

And at the center of this twisted storm, from within the blackest spot, she heard the wailing sirens of a ruined ship.

 

* * *

 

When Shunsui thought of the beach, he pictured a scene not that different from how anyone else would imagine it. A blue expanse as far as the eye could see, parted at the horizon, sky flush against the water. Soft tea-gold sands that the lapping sea foam turned a dark olive hue. Children crying out in amusement as they toss a frisbee for the family dog to catch. Some bursting into wails as older siblings sabotage meticulously crafted sand castles. Beach-goers taking refuge from the sun's unending assault under brightly colored parasols that look like scattered candy in the distance. Couples old and new lounging about on mats or tossing beach balls between themselves. Picnics punctuated by mirth and laughter. Lovers in soft, lazy embrace. Friends whooping in celebration.

And the best part: bikini babes.

Scantily clad girls splayed upon the sands, fine granules coating taught skin beading with perspiration. Seductively splashing about in cool waters, rivulets cascading down toned, glistening forms as their laughter echoes along with the crush of undulating waves. A surprised squeal as one mischievous hand undoes the knot of a barely-held-together bikini, the blushing victim erupting into fit of lewd giggles.

A slice of heaven far more delectable than the one that actually existed.

Reality certainly didn't disappoint. The beach had been every bit the paradise all those movies and magazines from the ryoka world said it was. The euphoria had been so raw, so intense that Shunsui nearly had an out-of-gigai experience as soon as his eyes fell upon the picturesque view before him. Throngs of beautiful bodies garbed in swimsuits of every cut, every style, each more tantalizing than the last; limitless beauty that was all for Shunsui to devour in sight, smell, sound, taste and touch. And he would have continued to bask in the moment if it weren't for the angry fuss that had broken out behind him. He didn't even need to turn around to tell who it was, the voices so painfully distinct that only a complete idiot would ask for a hint. Regardless, he ventured a glance at the two, Mayuri with his arms crossed over his chest in defiance and the ex-captain flashing him her teeth in a condescending smirk.

Kurotsuchi hadn't a lick about their plans to visit the beach since he'd been gone all day yesterday. He'd only learned of it over breakfast when Yoruichi herself had slyly asked if he liked his swimming trunks. He hadn't really all that understood what she'd just said to him, his very obvious hangover making it difficult for his brain to process information at the pace it usually did. Not to mention the crabby mood it put him in, so that not it was difficult for him to understand what was coming out of her mouth, he also didn't _want_  to understand her either. It didn't deter the feline, though. Very little that could.

She'd told him plain and straight (with a grin that never once faltered) that they were going to the beach.

All of them.

"I'm not," came the curt response.

"It's not up for debate," she'd fired back.

It really wasn't – words couldn't do much when she could just lob him over to a taxi like he was just another duffel bag. Shunsui ventured a guess that even if the Twelfth Captain hadn't been partially incapacitated by a hangover, he still wouldn't have had any better chance at wresting himself from Shihoin's iron grip. He'd resorted to spitting vitriol that barely had an effect on the intended target, though it did wind up infuriating Soi Fon instead. The petite captain could've pounced upon Kurotsuchi and torn him to shreds if Yoruichi wasn't making it painfully obvious that she was having a swell time pushing his buttons.

There was something awe-inducing about seeing Mayuri at the mercy of a bully.

Words were the only weapons at his disposal where raw strength couldn't wring himself free of her clutches. And even then, every scathing insult about her perceived promiscuity, every new detail about how he was going to flay and dismember her alive was water off a duck's back. Rather, a were-cat's back, to be precise. The Twelfth Captain himself must've already noticed how every attempt to ward her off was proving utterly futile, so all his hissing and spitting at this point was simply a defensive reflex that he couldn't help so long as this apex predator still had him by the throat.

Kyoraku hadn't caught what exactly it was that Kurotsuchi had snapped at her for this time but it seemed to have sprung a devilish scheme in the she-cat's mind. Or perhaps the idea had been there all along, and she'd been looking for them moment the blue-haired shinigami would walk right into her snare. The Cheshire smile that bloomed on her already predatory features was all the warning Kurotsuchi had before she slipped her long fingers into his collar and yanked him off his feet, dragging him through the sand as she set course for the changing area.

"I-Is that appropriate?" Miki stammered, wringing her hands. She turned her pleading gaze to Shunsui. For a moment, he debated if he really could spare enough context to dissuade her worrying without letting on that they were all reapers. It didn't take long for him to come to the conclusion that he probably wouldn't do a swell job of it, so he settled for patting her shoulder and flashing a reassuring smile. She gave him a look like she was slowly starting to believe she'd been employed by a bunch of escapees from a loony house.

Kurotsuchi's protests continued to punctuate the air as he was hauled across the beach, kicking and screaming. Several heads turned in his direction, the general sounds that one would hear at a lively beach slowly growing into concerned mumbles and shocked gasps from parents who were now scrambling to cover their impressionable children's ears. The curses finally devolved into panicked appeals once the two finally reached the entrance of an unoccupied shack, the Twelfth Captain's desperate attempts to escape by clawing at the sand and the bamboo fencing utterly futile against Shihoin's sheer brute strength.

With one great tug, the pair finally disappeared inside the building, leaving a deathly silence to hover over the coast.

A silence that barely lasted a handful of seconds when Sajin suddenly cried out "BALL!" and went bounding off. Shunsui heard Soi Fon curse under her breath before she took off after him. Following her trail, he noticed the Seventh Captain had already outrun her by a yard – a feat considering the anatomy of his human gigai wouldn't have allowed him to reach such speeds when on all fours. He saw him dive into a throng of teenagers in the middle of a stalled game of volleyball, tackling an orange-haired lad who was unfortunate enough to be clutching the ball in that moment. From afar it looked like that poor soul was being mauled.

"Oh, that Sajin!" Jushiro chuckled with a shake of his head, earning an alarmed glare from the shaken Miki. The Eighth Captain had wondered if really had been a swell idea to bring along a ryoka, especially one who was meant to remain in the dark about shinigami. But the prospect of seeing her in a cute bikini had swept away any concern he would've nursed about a decision Yoruichi and Unohana had already made and executed long before he had even a whiff of their plans. Not that he would've contested it if he'd known beforehand either; barely legally-naked girls were his top priority, and Miki was certainly killing it in that that peach colored two-piece with the frills and bows.

"Just put up the parasols already, the sun's frying me," Toshiro groaned from under a towel, following after Unohana and Zaraki to duck into the cool safety of the latter's massive shadow. Komamura was meant to help the Eleventh Captain carry some of the stuff, a task gleefully forgotten as soon as he'd spotted the volleyball but it didn't seem like his equally large colleague cared much about his absence. Kenpachi didn't like help.

The coast was slowly starting to come alive again, stirring from the shock of having to see a cursing, flailing man being dragged into a changing room by a lady. Odd that they were now choosing to ignore the other lady tugging along a guy by his ear against his will. Who was down on his hands. With a deflated volleyball and the wrist of its luckless owner clenched between his teeth. It seemed that the folks here was used to having plenty of weirdo tourists get up to all sorts of wacky shenanigans at this particular beach. So when when the initial shock wore off, it was as if they all flipped a switch in their heads that made all the nutjobs invisible to the senses.

Whatever the case, it meant that the shinigami captains wouldn't have to worry about constraining themselves too much for fear of sticking out like a bunch of sore thumbs. Although their gigai severely limited their powers, they could still perform certain feats that were physically impossible for even the most gifted mortals. Kenpachi and Sajin in particular weren't all that careful about reigning in their sheer physical strength. And Soi Fon and Yoruichi's movements were often far faster than what Shunsui deduced the mortal eye could possibly follow.

But now that it looked like the ryoka wouldn't be paying any particular attention, the shinigami had a lot more legroom to be cavalier about their behavior. Save Miki of course, but it looked like she could easily be consoled with a handful of reassuring words and comforting squeeze of the shoulder. A prospect that lost just a bit more of its luster when he saw her stone-like face as Soi Fon and Sajin neared the group.

"Bad Komamura!" he heard Soi Fon scold the dejected looking Sajin. Kenpachi was planting the brightly colored parasols when she'd finally reached them and relinquished her hold on the Seventh Captain's ear. Sajin didn't look up to meet anyone's eyes; he kept his gaze guiltily fixed on the sands underneath his human palms. "Drop it."

He whined. It sounded like a sad whistle.

" _Drop it_ ," the smaller captain enunciated firmly and Komamura finally complied, dropping both the flattened ball and the limb that came with it. The limb that was still attached to a whole person whose existence that the shinigami only now seem to notice. And  _recognized_  as well, thanks to his shock of bright orange hair since he lay face-down in the sand.

"Heya, Ichigo!" Jushiro greeted with all the enthusiasm of the world's most oblivious man. "I can't believe we're running into each other here! Crazy, isn't it?"

The mention of the Substitute's name immediately caught Zaraki's attention, who froze midway into ramming the last of the umbrellas into the ground. He heard the downed man groan despondently in response to the Thirteenth Captain's exclamation (he  _really_  didn't want to get up). In spite of the miserable overtone and the stifling sand making it sound hoarser than it actually was, there was no mistaking that voice. A feral grin split his visage, stretching to either side so that the corners of his lips reached his ears, two rows of white, elongated fangs glinting harshly in the sunlight. Blood, hot and pulsating, pumped through his veins, muscles tensing so viciously that the metal shaft of the parasol still in his grasp was bent at an odd angle.

It was that bastard, Ichigo.

Unleashing a primal cry, he plunged the umbrella into the earth with such wild force that the shaft folded in two places. The others jumped at the outburst and whipped around, looking on in awe at the mangled yet somehow still upright parasol before their gazes were irrevocably locked on the behemoth that marched toward them. Jushiro didn't have time to react – a massive palm was on his face and in the next moment he was several feet away from where he stood, held up by Byakuya who'd hooked his hands under his arms before he could hit the ground.

"Ya skipped out on our fight last time, ya little shit," he said, violently jostling Ichigo as he dangled him like a puppet by his tank top straps. Although it was coated in a fine layer of sand, it wasn't difficult to read the complete apathy on the youth's face.

"Boy do I regret it," he replied in a resigned, defeated tone.

"Ya don't know the meanin' of that word yet. Lemme re-educate ya with a straight fuckin' fist to yer eggshell skull."

"Yes. Please. Death will be a mercy at this point."

"Kurosaki-kun!"

Kenpachi halted the fist he was about pound into Ichigo's face mid-way in its trajectory. Bloodshot eyes snapped to a familiar redhead vaulting the last few feet between them with aching legs and overworked lungs. Shunsui's jaw dropped, loosened from its hinges at the sight of the girl's buxom form bouncing and swaying in large, attractive arcs, a strapless teal bikini straining against all odds to keep everything in place. Finally closing the gap, she stopped to keel over, ragged breaths making it impossible to form the words she desperately wanted to.

"Le-… le-…" she managed before displaying a palm, a silent plea for a break. They obeyed, watching in awkward stillness as she huffed and panted for a good half a minute before she'd regained enough composure. Gulping a large intake of air one final time, she straightened her back and assumed an offensive post – hands to either side of her head, trembling fingers pressed against her "hairclips" – although her worn out state didn't come off as threatening as she was hoping it would. Not to mention she was still a little out of breath. "L-let Kuro-… Kurosaki-kun go!"

Nothing.

"Please?"

"She is asking very politely, Captain Zaraki," Unohana finally spoke up, a hand on the behemoth's shoulder.

Kenpachi bristled. He didn't know when and how she'd managed to move behind him and put a hand on his person without him noticing, that is until she made her presence known to him. She gave the gentlest squeeze, a gesture that barely registered to him physically though his mind did suddenly conjure an image of a burning sky and a mountain of corpses out from a bloody sea. A pretty mild vision compared to what usually sprang up whenever Retsu was in a disagreeable mood, however the message was still certainly clear. A bummer he wouldn't get his fight with Kurosaki, but deliberately upsetting Retsu would've irked him considerably more. He snorted, disgruntled, and released his hold on Ichigo, dropping him like a bag of stones.

"Kurosaki-kun!" Orihime cried, falling to her knees and scooping him up from the ground. She had to push against him to keep him sitting upright. "Why didn't you tell me you invited your friends along?"

"I didn't," he croaked in a near inaudible voice but Orihime was already up on her feet again, her overbearing friendliness wiping out all memory of the tense several minutes that had just transpired. Ichigo fell back unceremoniously into the dirt, forgotten by his girlfriend who was too busy crushing Hitsugaya in the world's squishiest bear-hug.

"I didn't get to say "hi" when you'd first arrived!" she sounded out of breath but this time it was more due to her excitement than the physical effort of maintaining her vice grip on the suffocating Tenth Captain. "There was just so much commotion, I got lost in the crowd!"

"Orihime, I don't think he can breathe," Ichigo warned as soon as he lifted himself off the ground, only to see Toshiro's once flailing hands slowly going limp. The girl blinked, taking a second to register what the Substitute was saying to her before looking down at the boy captain. It took a second longer to realize that she was unwittingly smothering him and quickly pulled away. With air no longer denied him, he inhaled sharply and deeply, his red face slowly returning to its normal, healthy colour.

"Nice to see you too, Inoue-san," Jushiro said with a good-natured grin, extending a hand which she promptly shook. The white-haired man had opened his mouth to continue the conversation but had been interrupted by Kyoraku-san who seemed to appear out of nowhere, cooing loudly. His arms were wide open, blocking off most escape paths as he thinned the distance between them. He never found her embrace though, Ichigo having pulled her away to his side in the knick of time so all that the Eighth Captain could capture was the air.

"I thought you guys were on an undercover mission or something at first! But then Kurosaki-kun met with Urahara-san, and he said you're on vacation!" Orihime continued in the innocently oblivious way that she always did, punctuating her speech with a surprised yelp when the stranger who'd assaulted her boyfriend and then made off with him and their volleyball suddenly plopped down beside her. The man had a large build, so even as he assumed the stance of a patiently waiting dog for some unknown reason, he still towered over her by at least a foot. "Can I, um, help you?"

"I would like to extend my deepest apologies for my behavior earlier," his voice was guttural and formal, and she felt like it didn't match his soft, handsome face. "It appears that my gigai is obfuscating my natural predispositions. If I behave in an unlike way, it is because I am not exactly myself lately. Please forgive me."

"Um… sure?"

"May I please receive head pats?"

Orihime blinked back dumbly. The man remained quiet as well, his expression a stone mask but there was no denying the pleading look in his eyes. The redhead hesitantly reached out, testing waters by gently tapping the stranger's head. He remained still, unmoving, even as she changed tactics to gently rubbing her fingers into his scalp. She watched his lips slowly transition from a thin dark line to a pleased curve, an expression that she found she'd begun to mirror.

"Urahara?" someone queried, she wasn't sure who.

"Yeah he seemed to know plenty 'bout our break," Zaraki confirmed, scratching his chin absentmindedly.

"You say it like you had met him," Kuchiki said, raising a brow.

"'Cause I did."

"When did that happen?"

"After I gave this spineless fuck chase," the Eleventh Captain thumbed in Ichigo's direction. "He'd told me how to use my uh… whaddya call it… dick-shitty?"

"Denreishinki."

"Yeah that. That's how I got Miki to our place, too."

"Oh god, are you taking hostages?" Ichigo demanded out of irritation rather than concern when his gaze landed upon the complete stranger Kenpachi was now gesturing to. She blanched as soon as attention was upon her. Though whether it was because she didn't want to inconvenience her captors so she wouldn't be tortured to death afterwards or because she didn't want to get involved in this bizarre altercation, Ichigo didn't have enough insight to know for sure. It wasn't until he saw her steal a nervous glance of the Eleventh Captain that had a feeling that maybe, just maybe, he and Zaraki were the real reason why she'd been spooked into silence.

"Miki isn't a hostage," Soi Fon interjected, a slightly offended edge to her tone. "She is here of her own accord, no one forced her. Isn't that right Miki?"

"Y-… yes?" the girl barely squeaked out, her gaze darting from face to face, searching for a cue. There came no reprimand, nor displeased frown – she'd have received none anyway because everyone was in high spirits and were therefore all smiles. Unwittingly assured of her choice, she quickly straightened her back and shoulders, the picture of confidence, and exclaimed, "I mean, yes!"

She definitely didn't seem smart or was at least as hopelessly naïve, like Inoue. There was no way she was going to survive another day in the company of the most mentally and morally unstable shinigami in existence. Ichigo opened his mouth to challenge Soi Fon's proclamation that Miki wasn't under duress or at least being manipulated to accompany them. But before a single sound could work its way out, another joined in from behind him.

"What's this about forcing people here against their will?"

He physically felt his heart sink into a black pit upon hearing that all-too-familiar voice.

"Oh my gosh!" Orihime couldn't help gasping in excitement. "I can't believe it, you're here too Yoruichi-san!" and then her gaze shifted to the really strange looking guy whose shoulder the older woman had her arm slung over.

The girl couldn't recall ever having met or seen this man in her entire life, and the longer she stared at his uncomfortable scowl, the awkward way he'd been forced to bend down to accommodate Yoruichi's chummy embrace, or the unmistakable blush streaking his cheeks, the more she believed she'd never met him before. The way Yoruichi-san held on to him (even though it seemed like he was in this position against his will), Orihime ventured a guess that he had to be a friend or at least an acquaintance. Based on that assumption, she gave him her cheeriest smile though he'd failed to regard her presence.

And then she finally noticed the Hello Kitty trunks he was wearing. Orihime's smile immediately disintegrated.

"What a coincidence," the she-cat said with a mischievous drawl. It didn't sound like she was surprised at all. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"


End file.
